


The Barre

by bakerstreetashtray



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Ballet, M/M, Smut, balletlock, dance, mormor, we like that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-10
Updated: 2014-08-01
Packaged: 2018-02-08 07:42:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 24
Words: 60,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1932465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bakerstreetashtray/pseuds/bakerstreetashtray
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim Moriarty is twenty six, and working his way through the ranks of a criminal network - but longs to control his own. But great plans require great funding, and money that he doesn't have. A man of genius wit but few talents, and a history of dancing into his teens, he hatches a plan to win the ten thousand pound pay-out awarded to the principal dancers in the Blue Ribbon Ballet Company. </p><p>But the ballet company already has a front man. And he doesn't take kindly to trespassers on his turf. </p><p> </p><p>[mormorphone.tumblr.com]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Avant

I don't think I've ever wanted to be anywhere less. 

 

I pull into a parking space outside the tall, grand building, frowning as I step out, slamming the door three times before it sticks. Piece of crap. I'm already dressed, the leggings clinging to my legs in a way that feels unnatural now, though a few years ago, they were my second skin. A few years. More like ten. 

 

I lug my bag higher over my shoulder as I walk in, the t shirt hanging loose over my chest, and I pause a few times to straighten my hair in the mirror, or to tug at the elastic leggings, or to pull at the tightenings of the shoes. I don't know why I thought it'd be so damn easy. I feel.. nervous. I haven't danced in more than ten years. My friends - colleagues, more like - would fucking scoff if they knew. Jim Moriarty, who can talk a man into killing himself with just a piece of string and a fucking can of black cider. Jim Moriarty, who once made one of Malone's most notorious recruits sob his heart out, with just a few vicious and well-aimed words.

 

Jim Moriarty, too fucking broke, estranged from his rich family.

 

Yeah. That one's about right.

 

I suppose I'm lucky all the dancing stuff still fits. But then, it was big on me at sixteen. Really big. I was self-conscious. At twenty six, it's snug enough to make me look a real danseur. I can't fucking stand it.

 

Jim Moriarty, broke enough to try and claw his way back into ballet, for ten grand. 

 

I can start a pretty good business with ten grand. I'm tired of working for Malone. And I'm desperate.

 

\--

 

Dancers bump into me, rush past me, the halls full of them as I stalk down to the lower levels of the building, scowling at anyone who gets in my way. I shouldn't need to be here - to be doing this. It's so damned embarrassing. If my family hadn't disowned me after my initial skirmishes with the police, I wouldn't need to be here. Father would have given me ten grand. Maybe more. Mother wouldn't have. She so loved the idea of my going into ballet. Though if she knew I was doing this, no doubt she'd be proud. Abandon your children unless their life choices fit in with your own ideas.

 

Blood, thicker than water? It's bullshit. Don't believe it for a second. 

 

I finally reach the basement, where the Blue Ribbon Company rehearses. Mondays, Tuesdays, Wednesdays and Saturdays. Two hours a session. It's going to be fucking hard work. Harder than I've ever had to work for so little, probably. Become part of the team. Get the role. I've chanted the same orders to myself all the way here.

 

Join the team, get the role. Join the team, get the role.

 

Join the team, get the role.

 

The principal dancers of each production are given 10,000 pounds each. The company does one production a year, and it's always a sellout, the tickets over a hundred pounds each. Two shows a day, five nights a week, for about two months. This year, it's a ballet of Romeo and Juliet. A stupid fucking idea, whoever came up with it, but it's better than Swan Lake, recycled and murdered each year for the audience profits.

 

Malone's daughter helps with the bigger donation side of the Company. With a lot of bribery, a few promises I don't intend on keeping, and a good word from her father (though he wasn't sure what for), I've been accepted into the company, with no questions asked.

Malone can't know about it, of course. You don't go telling your Boss that you're going freelance. Taking his business.

"You're going to have to dance." Malone's daughter remarked to me slowly at the time, arching an eyebrow as if I expected to land the role with a few ten pound notes under the table. I gave her a simpering smile in return, that fell from my lips as soon as I turned away. I danced until I was sixteen years old, with the best of the best. Mother made sure of that. I was her prodigy. The favourite. Until I learned that respect was bought with expensive suits and cold hard cash.

 

Until Malone started teaching me the ways of the world. And now I want my own slice of that cake. No fucking leggings included.

 

But first, I  need that ten grand.

 

\--

 

I'm here.

 

It's bigger than I imagined. When they said 'basement', I thought of somewhere small and dingy. Brick walls and dripping pipes. Dancers huddled in the cold, and an old speaker system in the corner. 

 

But it's immaculate.

 

Wall to wall mirrors, and gilded, expensively papered white brickwork. Thick oak wooden floor, heated from beneath. A polished brass pole that runs around the centre of the room, and a piano in the corner, grand and white, besides a huge stereo that links to speakers in each corner of the room. It's brightly lit. It's beautiful. 

 

The dancers are already beginning. It's nothing like what I remember - the music is upbeat, classic melodies mixed with heavy beats, and they swing and glide, twist and leap, turning together as if they're one. A wave of people. Of rhythm. An older man, grey haired and clapping, stands before them all, counting the beats on his hands, and chiding those who miss. I don't see any miss, and yet he seems to, angry words flying from him, humiliating dancer after dancer, in a way that makes me nervous. I stand transfixed in the doorway, still holding open the door. 

 

I watch, scouting for my competition. It's a class of maybe twenty,  but there are only four men. They glide as smoothly as the women, spinning, lifting the girls, dropping down and raising up into positions just as impossibly. But one is quicker. More lithe. He moves effortlessly, motions almost bored, anticipating each move as it comes, never once making a mistake or earning the teacher's chides. His hair is an ash blond, falling into his eyes, face concentrated and yet smug, arms extended and muscular, his body lean. I narrow my eyes. He's the one. He's the one I'll have to beat.

 

The music cuts suddenly, and I'm caught out. The chiding man stands by the stereo, hand on the buttons, looking angrily at me. The dancers all turn too, hands resting on their thighs, or pacing on the spot to catch their breath. Girls tighten their ponytails, and two of the men nudge each other. Nervously, I tug my t shirt down further, but try my damnedest to look unfazed. I won't be intimidated by a group of fucking dancers, for fuck's sake.

 

I kill people.

"Are you joining us?" The man barks, in a french accent. "You are late."

"I thought the session started at three." I say, and my voice echoes, uncertain around the room.

"Half past two for warm up." He says back, and a few looks are exchanged through the crowd of dancers. I fold my arms over my chest, and shift from one foot to the other. The man gives a flat sigh, and barks at me again. "Are you staying? Get in line. Warm up. I am Francois."

My cheeks pink, I saunter as if disinterested into the corner of the room, where I drop my bag, and begin stretching. It's been a long time. A few faces turn to watch me, before instantly chided by Francois. He starts the music again, and I'm relieved to fade into the background, already wishing I hadn't fucking come. My eyes follow the principal danseur, watching him as he moves and turns, as a girl runs into his arms, and is lifted and turned, dipped across the floor and then spun back to her feet, before he runs, leaping into a wide jump, his feet delicately pointed, arms extended. The other men do the same. But it's him that I watch.

"Now, you." comes Francois' bark. I swear internally, and then just go for it. It's all happening very fast, but that'll be the way of it. I have to hit the ground running. They start show rehearsals in two weeks, or so I was told. A girl heads for me hesitantly, and I nod, lifting her as she throws herself into my arms, though I struggle with the weight, the turns clumsy before she's back on her feet. I turn and run into the leap, but I can't extend well, and a few titters run through the audience of dancers, much to my chagrin. I try and shake it off. The principal danseur laughs, grinning with one of the other men, and I grit my teeth, wanting to simultaneously kill them all and melt into the oak floorboards.

 

  
_Join the team, get the role._

We run through again. And again. By the seventh time, I'm a little better, though I'm aching and breathless, sweating from the exertion that I'm not used to any more. They all watch me, sharing glances and half smiles, and the embarrassment propels me forwards. I'm just beginning to improve, when we change to couples work. The men are all put on rotations, to give the girls a chance to work on their lifts properly. My first pairing is with a tall blonde girl, and she immediately puts my hands on her waist, bending and stretching as she talks to me sideways.

"I'm Holly."

"..Jim."

"You're out of practice, Jim."

I grit my teeth, and hold her as she leaps, arms extended. She remains poised as I bring her slowly back down, and my arms are trembling with the effort.

"How long?"

"..Ten.. ten years." I manage, and she looks back at me, flabbergasted and breaking poise.

"Holly!" Francois barks, and everyone looks at us. She snaps back into position, redfaced.

  
"Ten years!" She whispers a moment later. "Fuck. I thought it was a few months. You're in fantastic shape, then."

I feel a little better for that. I can't resist boasting.

"I'm going to go for the principal."

She tilts her head back, and I lift her to me as we turn. She's frowning, raising her eyebrows. "Yeah, okay. Good luck with that one."

My face immediately drops into a scowl, and she laughs, turning under my arms and extending a leg. I lift her, and we turn again.

"Sorry." She says, "But you'll never beat-"

"Him?" I interject, nodding at the one I've been watching. He's close to us, completely overshadowing the girl in his arms. He tosses and turns her as if she's made of thread, throwing and catching, extending and drawing back, all of it without any conceivable effort. Jealousy pricks at my blood and he turns to look at me. Green eyes sparkle with amusement and he grins. I scowl and turn away.

"Yeah." Holly says simply. 

 

We rotate.

 

\--

 

We work on our extensions after intensive couples work, and then we run through that initial turn and leap sequence again, right at the very end. I find that I can almost keep time with the worst of the men, almost extend as well, though it leaves me gasping and dizzy, leaning heavily on the brass pole by the time the session ends. 

 

Join the team, get the role.

 

I straighten, running my towel over my face, watching the dancers file out, Holly waving as she links arms with another girl, and they head out. I give a wry half smile, and nod. I think I made a friend. The other dancers seemed pleasant enough - Samantha, Tash and a girl they call Blondie, though her hair was a bright red. None talked to me much, but Tash was sweet, giving me advice on how to better extend. Still, I receive half-hearted smiles as they leave. Even Francois gives me a curt nod. But I know, myself. I'm no good. Not yet. I need serious improvement if I'm to beat these three men, and then the principal on top of that. 

 

He moves like he's fucking made for this. 

 

I'm the last out of the room, but I almost bump into him in the hall. Speak of the devil, and all that. He's talking to one of the girls, and she leans against him, smiling as he speaks quietly to her, though his eyes swivel to me. I drop my gaze. I don't feel like being cocky with him. Not yet. A few more sessions. I'm out of practice. 

 

Hell, this is going to fucking kill me. 

 

I'm halfway down the hall when he calls back.

"Hey Jim."

 

There's a grin in his words, and I look back over my shoulder, pausing for a moment. The girl is still leaning on him, and he watches me, chewing on gum as his eyes rake slowly down my body. My cheeks flare, aware of the tight lycra, and I have the urge to put my bag over myself, or swing down my hands. But instead, I stare back almost defiantly. He slowly arches an eyebrow, that grin spreading over his lips. I don't even know how he knows my name.

"I'm Sebastian."

The girl laughs for some reason, a quiet giggle, and it seems as if she's amused that I don't know his name. I haven't been on the scene in ten years. I couldn't tell you if I saw Darcey fucking Bussell. 

 

I just nod at him, and raise a hand in greeting, before dropping it flatly. That look still has heat lingering in my cheeks.

"See you tomorrow." He says, and winks, that grin still playing on his lips. I turn and leave as quickly as I can, the girl's teasing laughter still ringing in my ears as the doors swing shut behind me.

 

\--

 


	2. Danseur

My alarm is shrill at 6am, waking me for training. I live in a tiny flat with two of Malone's other boys, though I'm lucky enough to have my own room. Still, the walls are thin, and I can hear Lewis and D.J groan, roll out of bed and pad through to fight for the shower. I don't feel like I've had nearly enough sleep, though I went to bed straight after a half-hearted dinner last night, tired from the class. I can't stop thinking about that fucking principal dancer, his cocky swagger, that grin on his face and those eyes that raked down my body. He thinks he's God's gift to women, and dance. The fucking.. God of ballet. The thought amuses me, and I go to push myself out of bed - before falling back down with a gasp.

 

Every inch of me aches. My thighs feel leaden, my stomach and abdomen racked with pain when I try and sit up, my biceps, back and shoulders all calling out for a hot bath and a fucking week of rest. I tell myself I didn't cool down properly, but I don't think that's the case. I'm just unfit, out of practice.

 

And I have to go and train. And then have my second class later. 

 

I could cry.

 

\--

 

D.J bursts into my room as I'm getting dressed, having had the quickest shower imaginable, all the time while Lewis is banging on the door.

"You've taken my fucking long sleeved-" He begins, and I square up to him, eyes narrowed, just wearing my damned black trousers.

"I've taken nothing," I growl, "And if you don't get out of my fucking room, I'm going to deliver you back to Malone in a plastic bag."

"Then where the fuck is it?" He demands, unfazed, looking around my room. I move to stand in front of him again, not wanting him to see the ballet leggings on the floor, the shoes washed and drying on the radiator. I give him a push, and tall and skinny, he falls back a step. He scowls at me, and then storms out.

Lewis runs past the door, laughing, smoothing his blonde hair flat. He's wearing the long sleeved black shirt that D.J is looking for. Children, fucking both of them.

 

I roll my eyes and finish getting dressed, wincing as we pile into DJ's car, and he drives us to Malone's base. The place is already swarming with recruits, and we all head inside, the circuit training already in full swing. I groan, dread settling in my stomach at the sight of the weights, the treadmills, the bikes and and circuit strips. 

 

Not long now, I tell myself. If I win the role, I can start my own business. Sit at the top, while the others do the heavy work. The killing, and the business. I'll collect the winnings.

 

I launch myself onto the course.

 

\--

 

Six hours later, and I'm seriously dragging. 

 

We spent two hours training, by which time I was absolutely covered with sweat, Lewis and DJ ripping into me for being unfit, though of course they don't fucking know that I spent yesterday afternoon throwing my body around a dance studio. We were given a couple of hours to go home, and I showered and then slept, waking up ten minutes before we were due to leave again, with enough time to wolf down a bowl of porridge and an apple.

 

We dress in fresh blacks, and then join Malone in his headquarters, twenty or thirty of us in a large office. Cosy - but don't be fooled. You don't speak to the boss. You don't even look his way. He's old and fat, could undoubtedly never complete that damned course from this morning, but he exudes lazy authority. Could have any of us killed with the click of his fingers.

 

I aspire to be like that, one day. I'm already smarter than he is.

 

As per usual, when he gives the meeting and explains our latest extortion, I think of the most obvious solution at least ten minutes before he clicks his fingers and comes up with it himself. It's infuriating, but the recruits glance at each other, in awe of his brilliance. I resist rolling my eyes. Hell, I need this ten fucking grand. Join the team. Get the role.

 

We go through the finer points of the extortion, and we'll set the wheels in motion tomorrow. We're dismissed, and I go home, scowling as Lewis insists on playing heavy metal for the whole fucking drive, though for once, DJ doesn't argue. I rest my chin disgruntledly on a hand, and Lewis kicks at the back of my chair to the beat.

"Cheer up, Jimmy boy." He teases, and DJ glances across, amused. "We're done for the day."

I roll my eyes and ignore them. They're done, maybe. I have about an hour before I need to set off for ballet. I yawn, and rub at my eyes. This is going to be much harder than I anticipated.

 

\--

 

"You look knackered.." Samantha tells me, in a Scottish accent that I hadn't noticed before. She stands with Holly, the two of them frowning at me as I stretch, trying my damnedest not to yawn. I got another half hour of sleep in before I had to leave, but it wasn't enough.

"I ache." I admit, frowning, and they nod sympathetically, a voice coming from behind me.

"Try eating a lot of fish. And have massages."  

I glance back, and it's one of the other men - thankfully not 'Sebastian', but the Asian one with dark hair and a crooked smile, who shakes my hand. He stands with the two other men, one with wild curly brown hair, and the other, who is short and blonde, too skinny to do the lifts - though I've seen him, and he swings the girls around like they weigh nothing. It's impressive.

"We were watching you yesterday." The dark one says, and holds out a hand. "I'm Ali. This is Antoine and Alex."

I open my mouth to say something and he rolls his eyes. "I know. The three A's, right?" He smiles, and I smile back, shaking the other two hands. "We were watching you yesterday. You're not half bad."

"Thanks." I say, though a little sheepishly. "I'm out of practice."

"I'm sure you'll get back into it." Alex says, the lithe blonde one. "Glad to have you with us."

"Seriously, find a good masseuse." Antoine adds and slaps me on the back, before the three start walking away. "Sports massages work fucking wonders."

I laugh, and nod. At this point, I'll try fucking anything.

"Thanks."

 

\--

 

Francois arrives a few minutes late, the rest of us already stretching and bending. I feel a little better about everything, enjoying speaking to the 3 A's - the three other boys - and I stand beside Ali and Tash, Tash putting her hair up into a ponytail as she advises me on how best to lengthen my extensions.

 

Francois enters with Sebastian, the both of them holding cardboard coffees, and laughing with each other. Sebastian's gaze flicks to me smugly, and he pats the teacher on the shoulder before leaving him to go and stretch. I feel a flutter of anger in my stomach. Is this some kind of bribery? Some kind of pally relationship, making friends with Francois, buying him fucking coffee so he'll be sure to get the principal role?

 

I already can't stand the bastard.

Francois gives an extra ten minutes for Sebastian to warm up, and I watch him scathingly as he strips down to skin tight leggings and a long vest, my eyes lingering on the defined set of his muscled arms, his chest where the vest hangs low. I make a sound of disgust and looks away, and I see that smile play on his lips again. Arse.

 

I receive encouraging glances when Francois starts the music, the same track as yesterday, to signal a routine. 

"We will do a leap, a fall, you will get back to your feet, and then you will lift." He says, and I try and remember them in turn. Leap, fall, find a girl and lift. Right.

 

Of course, Sebastian takes the lead. He swans into the centre, taking a few delicate steps before he throws himself into a smooth, tight spin, before landing in an extension, taking two steps and pulling a girl I don't know into his arms. He dips her, and then throws her up, catching her at his own waist and turning with her, impossibly fast before setting her on her feet with a wink. His moves are precise. Enviable. The girl who was leaning on him yesterday scowls daggers at the girl who was lifted, currently gazing adoringly at Sebastian.

 

Arsehole.

 

We take it in turns to go next. Alex leads, struggling with the rise from the fall, though his lift is perfection. Antoine is the opposite - his hands slip on the lift, and Holly catches herself, Francois chiding him. Ali does well, and I think there must be something between him and Scottish Samantha. He picks her out of the crowd, and they hold each other's gaze with an intensity that prompts a few titters from the rest of us.

 

When it's my turn, Blondie smiles at me, and I nod. She mouths 'left', and I don't know what she means for a moment, but I concentrate on my leap - good, not quite extended enough - and fall. The fall goes well, but bringing myself up is an ache on my painful muscles, and I have to bite back a grimace, throwing myself across the floor and up, in what I hope looked like a smooth glide. Sure enough, Blondie stands by the left, red hair in a long ponytail that whips around as I draw her into my arms, and I lift her more easily than I lifted the girls yesterday, though fuck, it hurts.

 

We spin, and I set her down, and Francois nods. I feel exultant, and I smile as I walk back to where I was stood, Antoine slapping me on the back again. I find Sebastian's gaze triumphantly, and he arches an eyebrow, a smile playing on his lips. But that teasing glimmer, just for a moment, disappears.

 

I must be alright.

 

\--

 

Francois puts us on barre exercises, and I'm a little relieved at first. No more leaping and throwing for a while, though I soon realise that it's no excuse to rest. The stretches are hard, pushing me further, extending longer than I've been able to go before, and I suddenly remember why I turned up late to my ballet sessions as a teenager. The barre stuff was always at the start.

 

Francois walks around the room, giving light slaps, barking loud chides into our ears. Straighten. Extend. Don't shake. You need to practice. We all get feedback. Criticism. Aside from Sebastian, of course. 

"He can't be that fucking perfect.." I mutter, and Blondie nudges me, and then pushes my foot higher. I nod in thanks, though I wince at the pull of the muscle.

"He is." She says with resignation, whispering. She bends, words almost inaudible. "He was in the National Company."

My eyebrows shoot up at that. The National Company. My gaze flits to Sebastian, and I watch him practice a grand  _plié_ , jealousy sparking in my chest at the near horizontal set of his thighs, before he straightens again. He grins at me, and saunters over, just in time for Francois to change the exercise. 

  
"You should keep watching." He says, voice quietly amused. I don't look at him, practicing my own bend as Francois dictates. "You might learn something. You're stiff."

My mouth falls open in outrage, and I look to him, dropping my arms. Of course, Francois arrives to slap at my hands, and bark chiding insults of my poise. 

"Fuck off." I spit, getting back into position as he saunters away, laughing. Stiff. I'm not fucking stiff.

 

\--

 

For the rest of the session, we practice arabesques and battements, and then go back to that opening routine. I'm dog tired, but I keep going, keep pushing, and when the clock finally hits five, I'm rewarded with another of Francois' nods. 

 

Holly puts an arm around my shoulders and ruffles my hair as we walk out, and I feel like I could curl up and sleep on the floor of the lobby.

"You're doing so well," She says, "You've improved tenfold in like a day."

"She's right." Ali says, he and Alex walking behind us. Samantha lags shyly behind them, her arm linked with Blondie, and Antoine waves, leaning back on the wall to take a phone call. "You were extending better today. I think you even had Sebastian worried."

We all laugh, and I give a tight smile. Because that's what it is. A joke. There's no way in hell I can be better than he is. 

"Keep dreaming, kid."

We all whip around at the voice, but Sebastian steps out from behind a wall, the girl he danced with today hurriedly pulling down her t shirt, straightening herself, trying to appear unflustered. It doesn't work very well. 

"Seb." Alex greets pleasantly, but the rest of us give half-hearted smiles. Nobody likes a show-off, I've realised. Though that doesn't seem to faze the majority of the girls when he sets his sights on them. 

"Hope you've all been practising for tomorrow.." He drawls, a wolfish smile playing on his lips as he leans against the wall. The girl, redfaced, is completely ignored, and after a moment, snatches up her bag and runs on out of the door.

"..What are you talking about?" Holly demands, and Sebastian raises his eyebrows in mock surprise. The sun is setting just outside the doors of the grand building, and it catches his skin, illuminating his tan, and the blonde in his hair. He folds muscled arms across his chest, and I grit my teeth,

"Oh..  You didn't know?"

We all stare back at him blankly, and Holly blinks, sighing in annoyance. Sebastian grins, and pushes off the wall, lifting his sports bag onto his shoulder.

"Francois decided to bump up the first show auditions."

I grow still, and someone behind me gasps audibly, the rest of us sharing glances. That can't be right. I thought we had a week yet. I'm nowhere near good enough..

And I refuse to believe that Francois would simply 'decide' such a thing. Those pre-class coffees flash angrily through my mind.

"..You're not serious?" Ali says, in a kind of slow panic.

Sebastian winks, and begins to saunter out, the sun putting him in silhouette in front of the doors. His words are teasing, amused.

"See you tomorrow, girls and boys. Bring your best."

\--

 

 

 


	3. Assemblé

We scatter.

 

The moment Sebastian is out of sight, we're all swearing, running this way and that. Antoine and Ali go back to try and practice for a few more hours in the studio, a couple of the girls going with him. Holly and Samantha say a hurried goodbye and then rush out of the door, discussing moves. Blondie swears, and runs off ahead, Alex waiting for a moment before running after Sebastian, probably to try and get more insider information.

 

Tomorrow. The auditions are tomorrow. And then after that, our next session is Saturday, which will probably be the callbacks. And then after that..I bet it's announced on Monday. And then Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, we'll be rehearsing.

 

Just like that.

 

I need this role.

 

\--

 

I hurry home, my mind whirring, and burst into the flat. Lewis and DJ sit half dressed on the sofa playing Playstation games, hands covered in cheese dust from the super large packet of cheese puffs on the table, and dinner dishes still in their laps, with the remnants of burger wrappers on the floor.

 

They shout for me to join them as I race past, but I shake my head and then lock myself into my room. I hurry to try and clear a space, and drop my bag, pulling the tight leggings and t shirt back on, having changed to avoid my flatmates' questions. 

 

I'm aching, tired and hungry, but I have to practice. I need this role, and at this rate, I'll be out on the first round of auditions. I'm good. I'm getting better. Maybe one day, I could even be great. But not now, not after two classes and a ten year absence. Sebastian's manipulation has completely fucked me over. 

 

I turn on my laptop, and find a few tracks, letting the music blare out. I breathe slowly, and re-stretch, taking my time. I practice my extensions first, just limbering up, bending into plie and then out to arabesque, holding each position and then changing. And then I begin properly, working on throws and falls, pointing my toes, spinning and landing, experimenting with making my way around the room. Each impact of my feet on the floor makes my bed and wardrobe rattle, and soon, DJ is knocking on my door angrily, downstairs neighbours having arrived to complain. I ignore it all. I prop a chair in front of the door. I turn up the music.

 

Join the team. Get the role.

 

Slowly, but surely, a routine begins to come together.

 

\--

 

I miss my alarm at 6am. I'm wearing my long ballet t shirt, and my underwear, crashed out in bed with the remnants of my meal last night beside me, the pasta congealed in the dish. I went until past midnight, practising and practising. I can barely open my eyes.

 

Lewis bursts into my room at ten past seven, dressed and holding the car keys, and frowns at me.

"You coming, Jim?"

 

I can't even shake my head. I don't have the energy.

 

"M'sick." I mumble, my eyes closed, and he takes in last night's meal with a grimace. 

"Malone won't be happy."

"Fuck Malone."

"I'm going to pretend you didn't say that." Lewis says, and DJ rounds the door, curly hair tamed into a ponytail. 

"What's wrong with smallfry?"

"Says he's sick."

"Yeah well we've gotta go."

Lewis sighs, and disappears for a moment. He returns with a glass of water, and sets it on the side. 

"I'll cover for you this time. Get better for tomorrow."

He turns and nudges DJ, and they leave, much to my relief. My eyes slide shut, and I don't wake up until noon.

 

\--

 

I blink myself awake, and immediately frown at the congealed meal, sitting up. My muscles still ache, but I feel a bit better, though I swear when I see the time. I climb out of bed, and go through to the bathroom, running a hot bath and adding some muscle soak, and then returning to the kitchen to make myself pasta, with all the greens that we have in the fridge. And a chicken breast. I need the energy.

 

I massage my own shoulders, trying to take a little of the strain away, sitting and eating the food while I let the bath cool a little. When I climb in, I could groan at how nice it feels on my aching muscles, and I stay in there for half an hour.

I let myself wonder about the others - if they've been rehearsing all night, if they're nervous, if they've slept. Sebastian probably slept like a fucking baby, the arsehole. If the others didn't already despise him, they do now. 

 

When I climb out of the bath, it's with a sense of purpose, though I don't have time to run through my routine again. I'll have to rely on what I memorised last night, and hope that it's enough. I dress carefully, in the clothes I handwashed this morning, and decide to let the last few damp spots dry in the sun on the half walk over there. I'm relieved that I haven't had to work today, but I'll no doubt pay the price. Malone doesn't take well to his men having days off, but that work out would have killed me.

 

I head outside with a kind of dread. Audition day. If I don't get through, then that's it. I'm out. No ten grand, no business. Back to the drawing board. I swallow, and head for the tube station.

 

\--

 

When I arrive, the air is already thick with tension. Tash is pacing outside the building, counting beats on her fingers and mouthing words to herself, and I approach her slowly, frowning.

"..Are you alright?"

"Yeah. It's suffocating in there." She says and shakes her head. "Everyone wants principal, even if they say they don't. I'd be happy with Rosaline."

I smile. "Isn't she only in the first ten minutes?"

"Exactly, panic over. I still didn't sleep last night."

 

I share a long-suffering smile, and walk inside, leaving her to her pacing. I'm early for warm up, but I head straight for the basement, and it seems many have the same idea. Holly is here, with the three A's and Blondie, a few of them glistening with sweat. I wonder how long they've been practising. Samantha and Ali stand together, his arm around her shoulders, both trying to console one another's nerves. We all look tired. Wired.

 

Francois walks in, and Sebastian follows him, Tash running in too as so not to miss anything. 

"Today, we audition." Francois announces, clapping his hands. He must expect some kind of shock, because he raises his eyebrows before he continues. "For the first round, we will be doing knockouts. I will play one song. You will dance when you want to dance. If you are chosen, you are through to callbacks. If you are not chosen, or you do not join the dance, you are not through to callbacks. Questions?"

Silence falls, and we all take a breath. I feel calm, but my hands shake, my palms sweating. Holly flashes me a feeble smile. Sebastian begins to whistle, lazy and teasing, sauntering into the corner of the room to drop down his bag. Bastard. I set mine down in the same pile, and he grasps at my arm. I look back at him, scowling.

"Extend more on your landing." He says, not smiling. "Arms out on the turns. They were in. Flow, don't step. Art, not precision."

"What-" I begin, but he's already released me and stalked off to warm up, at the other side of the room. I stare dumbly after him and then shake my head, though his advice seems to stick. Extend on landing. Arms out on turns. Flow. Art. 

I join the warm up, and I keep my eyes away from him. I reassure the girls, and the three A's with short smiles, though the tension is palpable in the air. The studio has never been so eerily silent. And then Francois floats over to the stereo, and loads a CD. With his finger on play, we're all poised, ready to leap into action, to prove ourselves.

 

Dance and get chosen. I need this.

"This is not simply a dance." Francois announces. "This is Romeo and Juliet. This is love. A love story. I want to see the love. I want to believe that you love each other. All of you. Make me believe it."

We're still, frozen, waiting. He clicks the button.

 

Join the team. Get the role.

 

I'm ready.

 

\--

 

I recognise the song instantly. I'd be surprised if one of us didn't. It's 'Fix You', by Coldplay. Emotional, slow with bursts of beat and melody. It could tell a story. Of course, it's been chosen. 

 

For ten seconds, none of us move. Our eyes are on each other, or on the oak panelling. It's like it's been rehearsed, when we finally do. 

 

  
_'When you try your best and you don't succeed..'_

Arms are extended, steps taken, dancers slowly launching themselves into their first moves. Stretches and extensions, dainty and careful, we move to the first verse. My eyes flick to Sebastian, and he turns Holly beneath his arm. She extends in an arabesque, and I smile, until he matches her, his foot higher. Still, they move in sync. It looks beautiful. I turn on the spot, my movements deliberately slow, a careful recitation of my routine, performed last night to songs that were much too fast.

 

I'm forced to improvise. Tash makes a delicate beeline for me, and I lift her, turning her slowly, and then lowering her down onto the oak floor. She extends her legs, sliding beautifully, and I follow step for step, forwards as she goes back. Francois' eyes follow us beadily, and I try not to look at him, concentrating on the footwork. Make me believe it, he said. 

 

He taps Sebastian on the shoulder, just as he slides his arms around a girl's waist, their expressions so pained that I might believe that they're star-crossed lovers. He's playing it, I realise. Playing Romeo. Sebastian has been chosen. 

 

The footwork isn't enough. I have to be in love. I have to play the tragedy. I release Tash, and the music is building to the crescendo. Taking my chance, I launch into my practiced routines as the others increase the tempo of their moves, and all at once, we're running, jumping, gliding and extending. I spin, I fall, I drag myself from the ground, and then I tug Blondie with me, the first girl I could reach. 

 

She almost stumbles, but she recovers, and I pull her against me, lifting her up from my chest, and turning, before swinging her down, her arms extended and back bent beautifully. She slides along the floor behind me, and the next moment she's on her feet, stepping lithely towards me, and I step back in equal measure, keeping my distance.   

Eyes are on us, and we take advantage of the fact, our moves large and flourishing, moving in sync. But we can't hold the floor for long. Sebastian moves in, steals Blondie from right under my nose, turning her from the waist and bending her back over his arm, lifting her so expertly that she's spinning, back on her feet and extended over his arms as he does an arabesque, before I even have a chance to counter move. 

In an attempt to save me, Ali interjects. His hands encircle my waist, and he lifts me, much to my chagrin. I stretch and extend as a girl would, hands finding his as I turn down, flipping delicately back onto my feet, and then leaning back against him, his hand roaming down my torso before I catch it, using it as a base to turn away into a spin and fall. I shoot him a look, and he gives a split second of apologetic shrug.

 

Francois taps him on the shoulder. I notice that Holly's gone. Blondie's been tapped. Tash gets tapped as I watch, and whoops, running into Holly's arms as the pair squeals.

 

Sebastian has stopped, watching as the last few strains of the song die away. His eyes find mine, and I feel shame crashing over me. I didn't get picked. I..

A hand braces hard on my shoulder. I turn, and Francois stands, smiling at me. 

"I wanted to see what you had." He says. "You have promise. Callbacks are Saturday."

I laugh a little in disbelief, and an arm loops around my shoulders, a hand ruffling my hair. I look up, grinning, assuming that it's Ali, apologising for that girl lift. But Ali is across the room, comforting Samantha, who didn't get chosen. 

 

The arm belongs to Sebastian, and he grins down at me with a kind of smugness. Breathless, I try and extricate myself from the bastard, but he squeezes me, and leans down to murmur by my ear.

"Much better."

 

 

\--

 


	4. Renversé

It's a Thursday, and we don't have class until Saturday. In my exhilaration, Holly convinces me that I should go out for drinks with them, all of us walking in a group from the grand building, on top of the world. Even Samantha and Antoine, who weren't chosen, walk with us, smiling sadly and congratulating us all. They say it'll be better for them anyway. Less work. I wish I could believe them. Everyone wanted this.  
  
I know it's a bad idea. I have to be up to train at 6am, and it strikes me just how strange this whole thing is. I'm a murderer. I've killed people,  _do_ kill people present tense, and I enjoy it. I like the adrenaline of a kill, a business deal sealed, the thrill of millions of pounds won. But somehow, I've managed to recreate that feeling this afternoon, and fuck, I should be allowed to enjoy it.  That dance was a fucking rush. It's what my father would have called 'good clean fun'.   
  
"..Fine." I give in, and Antoine cheers, the others converging on me to ruffle my hair and tug at my shirt, laughing. Even Sebastian follows behind us, a girl on each arm, though he's a few metres back. I try not to look at him. I remember his advice, moments before the audition. In my chagrin, I realise that his tips did help after all. And his 'much better' straight afterwards.. less smug than I'd expected. I couldn't help looking at him throughout the rest of the class, sneaking bemused glances, not sure why he'd attempt to help me. I'm his competition. Unless he pities me that much. The thought makes me a little angry. I glance back at him now, dubious, and one of the girls runs a hand down his chest. I roll my eyes.

 

Still an arse.

 

"I thought you were going to pull me off my feet!" Blondie says, about my impromptu pulling her in to dance with me, and gives me a shove, laughing. We head down the road towards a bar, though at 5pm it's much too early to be drinking. Nobody seems to care. A bored waitress seats us all under umbrellas outside, and we order a couple of pitchers of cocktails, clinking our glasses to 'Romeo and Juliet', though Ali cups his hands and shouts "What a load of shit!", and we crack up.

 

As I'm laughing, I feel peculiar. I feel at home, more at home than I've ever felt with any of Malone's boys. With any of my school friends, or my own family. I could almost belong here. 

 

I have to pinch myself hard to bring myself back to my senses. I'm just here for the ten grand. When they give it to me, on opening night, then I'm gone. One show, and then I'll disappear. My name will be a whisper on everyone's lips. I'll be Jim Moriarty, the vanishing Romeo, the criminal mastermind from humble beginnings. I'll steal Malone's men from under his nose. His business deals, his clients. His life, if I get the chance. I'm hungry for success. And I need to remember why I'm here.

  
Join the team. Get the role.

 

"You're lagging, Jim!" Tash says, and taps at my glass. Everyone else is on their second, and I hurriedly drain it and pour myself another. The group are in a roaring discussion on naked ballet, the newest craze sweeping the Russian companies, supposedly the peak of all artistic dance. They're all half drunk and giggling, and I sit on the outskirts, happy just to watch and sip at my drink. The sun is setting, and it's nice. I'm fairly sure they all should be rehearsing now, anyway. No doubt, the other girls from ballet will be. But I suppose one night off is earned.

 

The bench creaks beside me, and I look over to see Sebastian, and roll my eyes, turning away again. He sets down two drinks in front of us, tall things with fucking umbrellas and cherries, and I arch an eyebrow, looking him over.

"What?" I say. "Your usual girls go home and now you're palming this off onto me?"

"Jim," He says, and puts a hand to his chest. Muscled chest. I don't look. "You wound me." He grins. "Yes, actually. And it's fucking expensive, so drink up."

I don't want to do a single thing that he says, but I take the cocktail anyway, and take a sip from the straw. It's strong. Eyewateringly so, and I cough after a moment, grimacing at him. "What the hell is in that?"

He shrugs. "Everything. And peach juice."

\--

 

We sit in silence, half involved in the raucous conversation still going on, hands slamming on tables and laughter trilling out, more jugs of cocktails making the rounds. I get progressively more light-headed from the one that I'm drinking, and even Sebastian pulls a face after each sip. The sun sets, and I sigh, looking at him sideways. 

"You know the whole company thinks you're an arse."

"Is that so?" He replies, not even looking at me, just sipping slowly at his drink as he looks out at the city.

"Yeah." I say, raising my eyebrows.

"Why?"

For pulling a move like that. Getting the auditions bumped up. For using and seducing any damned girl you like. For showing off all the time, and making it look effortless. Making the rest of us look bad.

"..Because you're an arse." I say simply. He laughs, short and husky. He drains the last of his cocktail, and motions to the passing waitress for two more. I raise my hand to try and stop her, but she's already disappeared. I'll have to pass it to someone else when it comes. I'm not paying for it. Sebastian doesn't say anything for a long moment, but he stretches out his legs, leaning back against the table. 

"If I'm an arse," He begins, that smug arrogance weighing on his words. "Then I'm an arse who helped you get through to callbacks."

I laugh, a short, sharp indignant huff and look at him, surprise in my expression and slight anger in my chest. "You? I did that by myself." I shake my head, a snide smile on my lips. "As much as you seem to like to think you're God's gift to fucking.. ballet.."

He arches an eyebrow, and my cheeks feel hot. I carry on, my words disinterested.

"..You're not. And you're an arse that I'm going to beat, on Saturday."

The words are my gauntlet, thrown down at his feet, and he sits up just a little, eyes searching my face, before he remarks amusedly, suggestively, purposely twisting my words.

 

"You want to ..beat .. this arse."

"I-" I begin indignantly, but his words fell upon a lull in the group conversation and the others look around at us for a moment, before hooting and roaring with laughter. Jokes about my 'beating' Sebastian's arse fly around for a few minutes, and I sit redfaced, stiff, until the topic is changed. The waitress brings out the cocktails, and I snatch one, taking a long drink.

"You know," I hiss, turning to him, emboldened by the alcohol. "I've killed people."

He answers without missing a beat, getting just as close, voice a matter of fact murmur.  
"And yet you still can't fully extend on a jeté."

I stare at him enraged for a moment, open-mouthed, and then I let half of my cocktail splash out of the glass and onto his jeans, most likely soaking through to the lycra leggings underneath. He straightens a little, jolting back at the splash and the conversation hushes, a few titters running through the others as I stand up with a scrape of the bench.  My chin tilted, I walk to stand in front of them all, and Blondie gets up tentatively to hug me.

"..You're off..?"

"I'll see you all on Saturday. Sorry. He's.. fucking pissed me off."

"Yeah.." She glances back at Sebastian, who watches me, whilst mopping halfheartedly at his jeans with napkins. The others have returned to their conversation, but wave me off as Blondie sits back down. I snatch up my sports bag, and wave back, before heading out of the place, and towards my tube station. It's getting dark anyway. And if I stayed any longer, I'd be drunk as hell. I'm already tipsy. 

I shake my head, trying to clear it as I walk, the alcohol making me foggy. I wonder whether Sebastian truly deserved that drink to the crotch, and decide almost immediately that he did. Arsehole. Proceeding to take credit for my callback, and then giving me more tips. Buying drinks for me, so that I have more to owe him for. I make a sound of disgust under my breath, and then frown as I hear a laugh.

 

\--

 

I turn, the sound having made me jump, and look at him, Sebastian standing, wet crotch and all, with his arms folded, leaning against the wall to watch me. 

"I couldn't have you walk home alone.." He purrs, and I raise an eyebrow, wondering if he's drunk. I'm slightly drunk, myself. Three and a half cocktails isn't great going,  but I don't often drink anyway. I pull a face at him, and dig into my pocket, drawing out a folded knife, and opening the blade.

"I think I'll be okay without you, oh Great One." I say with simpering sarcasm, and give a bow, though it's ruined by the slight wobble. He snorts, and pushes off the wall, sauntering over to examine the knife, and nod.

"Still. Can get a few weirdos out here."

I point it at him, swaying a little, my words a touch louder than I mean them. "Says  _the_  weirdo."

  
"All due respect, I'm not the one holding the knife." He says calmly, and I roll my eyes, pulling a face at him before I clumsily fold the blade away and tuck it back into my pocket. He must step closer, because when I look back up, he's looking down at me, and I can feel the heat from his body. I grimace at him, and take a step back, repeating a little uncertainly what I said earlier, an attempt at a warning.

"..I kill people."

"So you keep insisting." He says amusedly, and takes a step closer. "And I don't think I deserved a drink on me for what I said."

"What makes you think I want your criticism?" I snap, clenching my fists. He's testing my fucking patience, now. Arrogant, self-satisfied idiot. "What, just because you were in the fucking - in the National? You're better than the rest of us?"

He stills, his expression freezing. 

"Who told you that?"

I roll my eyes with a loud and irritated sound, and begin to walk away again, but his fingers wrap tightly around my arm.

"Jim." He says, seriously. "Who told you that?"

"Let go of me." I say through gritted teeth. He holds my gaze for a long moment, reluctant, and then he does. I tug my t shirt straight, and then continue to walk, lugging my sports bag along behind me. After a few minutes of walking, I know he's still following me. I turn around slowly, not amused.

"What?" He says, holding out his hands. "I can't make sure that you're safe?"

"Safe?" I scoff, "You'll be the one fucking attacking me. Can't have anyone else going for principal.." I mutter the last part under my breath sarcastically, and a slow smile spreads over his lips. We've stopped again, in the middle of the street. He saunters another step towards me, reaching out to let his fingers graze over the brickwork of the wall.

"...You really think you have a chance?" He asks me, amused, smile tugging at the sides of his lips. Just the sight sends an angry fire through my gut, and I scowl back, forcing myself to flash him a grimace of a smile in return.

"..Scared?"

He laughs, short and husky, and takes another step towards me, until we're squared up against one another, and I have to look up at him.

"Bring it on." He says, though it's more like a whisper, eyes burning into mine with the challenge. He's close enough that I could stab him without much difficulty, carve out a pattern in his abdomen, drop down and cut the tendons in his ankles. Can't dance principal if you can't dance, period. 

But I don't. Because I need to win this now, and I need to win this myself. Fairly. To wipe that smug grin from his lips.

 

"Oh, I will." I promise, meeting those green eyes, the tension hard between us, though he's still smiling that fucking infuriating smile.

 

Almost too quickly for me to register, he dips down, and his mouth presses hard to mine, warm and soft, stubble brushing against my skin. A second passes before I pull back, and when I do, my eyes are wide and enraged, my face slack with shock. I can't seem to form a single word, though my heart is slamming against my ribs, and he reaches out, ghosting a hand down my cheek.

I jolt back, like I've been burned. His hand still hangs in mid air, a few inches in front of my face.

 

"You have promise," He murmurs, mouth quirking at the corner. "But you're not made for Romeo. And you won't take it from me."

It's a warning, and he slowly drops his hand, that glimmer of smugness returning to his eyes as he turns, sauntering back to the bar.

I watch him go, standing dumbly in the dark. My heart thuds in my chest, mind whirring.

I can taste him in my mouth.

 

\--


	5. Croisé

I make it home in a daze, getting in at a little past ten. By the time I reach the front door, I'm angry with myself. He's trying to unsettle me, to get into my head, and I let it happen. I can still feel his bastard mouth on mine, and I rub at my lips with the back of my hand. I hate him.   
  
I slam the door a little too hard, and DJ jolts awake where he lies on the sofa, sitting up to look at me blearily.  
  
"I thought you were sick."  
  
I blink at him for a moment, my mind blank. I run a hand across my eyes. "Yeah. I was."  
  
He raises an eyebrow at me, and passes over a cardboard box of cold pizza. I grimace, and shake my head.   
  
"Malone wasn't happy." He says, and I shrug.  
  


"I'll work Sunday and make it up to him. I couldn't help being sick."

"Don't look so sick to me."

I give him a simpering smile. "Well I got  _better._ "

I stalk past into the kitchen, and make myself up a plate of toast, standing and eating it in the window. My hands still shake slightly, a consequence of the anger, adrenaline or both. The urge to beat Sebastian now, to claw the role from him, is almost visceral. I need to improve, to come out fighting on Saturday.

 

It's the individual dances. I need to pick a song. To practice. It strikes me suddenly that Saturday at 2.30pm is in less than two days. I swear under my breath, still clutching a toast crust. 

I need to win. It's not just my future any more, but my pride. I can still feel his mouth against mine if I close my eyes, the traitorous ripple of heat in my stomach at the press of warm lips. I ignore that. I hate him. 

 

I'll be principal if it fucking kills me.

 

\--

 

I go to bed soon after I eat, and when I wake up, my alarm is trilling at me. For the first time in three days, I feel well rested. My muscles still ache, but the bath helped, and I'm the first in the shower, much to the chagrin of my flatmates, who bang on the door until I emerge wrapped in my towel.

 

I dress in my blacks, and we're in the car for seven, Lewis still battling his way through a huge bowl of cereal in the back seat, DJ and I eating cereal bars. On the outside, I'm doing well. Internally, my head is a mess. I'm quiet, detaching myself from the boys as soon as I can, and running the circuits alone, going hard until I'm sweaty and exhausted.

It makes me anxious. They're probably all already rehearsing for callbacks. I imagine Sebastian, still laying in bed, and scowl at the thought. It pushes me further, and DJ laughs as I race past. I give him the finger.

 

At home afterwards, I take a freezing cold shower and pause for scrambled eggs, before we're back in the car again to headquarters. DJ and Lewis fill me in on what I missed yesterday, and I'm nodding, understanding. The extortion is today, a typical ransom job, and we'll be watching over things, making sure it all goes to plan. We pull up and park, and head inside, though there aren't many here - scattered around London no doubt, ready to put things into play.

Malone shoots me a stern look as I enter, and I give an apologetic smile, raising a hand to call. "I'm in Sunday."  
I'm one of the few who have earned the privilege to speak to him, which is probably why he hasn't garrotted me yet for missing a day of work. He calls us all to silence, and explains the task, rubbery, round face quivering as he speaks, grey hair combed over his bald patches. He's grotesque. I envy him so much.

 

"I'm going to call the mark from my phone. His name.."

He looks to one of the nearest recruits, who panics for a second before remarking "..David Rollings." I roll my eyes. We've been briefed on this to death. He deserves the sack if he couldn't remember.

"Good." Malone answers, with a shark's smile. "I will call David Rollings. This will be a call that he's been expecting for a while. More specifically.."

He goes to look at another, but Lewis pipes up; "Six months."

"Six months. Exactly. When I call him, I will give him our terms." He stops his teacher act, voice serious. He sits back at a desk. "Our terms are these. For every time he disagrees with my terms, or does not agree to pay me the money that I desire, I take out a member of his family. We have a wife in Wandsworth, two daughters in Chiswick, and his mother, in a nursing home in Acton."

He pauses to look around at us, or more likely, to make sure that some of us aren't here, are in the right places. Watching over the family members, ready to kill them at his word. He reaches down to a conference phone on his desk, and taps in three different sequences. He tests. Presses a button, and we hear the crying of a woman. Another, crying children. The third, the angry arguing of nursing home staff, followed by gunshots and the shriek of an elderly woman. Malone smiles.

 

We're all set.

 

\--

 

David Rollings ends up losing the wife and mother, but saves the children with an eventual agreement to £1.3 million. By the time Malone hangs up the call, men already positioned nearby to make sure Rollings pays up, the old man whoops and grins, the rest of us cheering. 

 

One day, this will be mine. This industry, this business.  I'm not a good person, I know. David Rollings isn't, either. He's an embezzling accountant for the rich and famous, I've done my research.. but I suppose I feel a pang for the murdered relatives.  They were innocent in this.

 

We leave early, a gift from Malone, and I'm antsy all the way home, desperate to get into my ballet stuff and start rehearsing. Callbacks are tomorrow. And as much as I despise him, I know Sebastian will come out fighting. DJ and Lewis are going straight to the pub to celebrate the completed job, and rip into me when I say no, Lewis groaning and leaning back in his seat, poking his socked feet into my face from the back seat.

"Come on, it's the fucking weekend.. " He complains, and I push away his feet, climbing from the car as DJ pulls up on the street outside the flat. 

"Still recovering from my illness." I call back, and DJ snorts, raising his voice.

"Illness, my arse. He's got himself a girl, hasn't he? He was out all last night, the night before he was banging around in his room.." He slaps a gawping Lewis on the back of the head. "Idiot."

I roll my eyes, grinning, and step inside. Better that they think that than know the truth.

 

\--

 

I spend the rest of the night rehearsing in my room, the chair wedged up under the handle again. I practice my extensions, and focus on my jeté, remembering Sebastian's stupid taunt. I decide upon a new routine, and take it slowly this time, able to choose my own track. I need something suitably tragic, something that sums up the love story, but isn't cliched. I have to pick something obscure enough that none of the others will choose. 

I spin, I step, I turn. I try and incorporate my falls and rises, using my desk as a makeshift barre to promise my arabesques and plies, finding the various battements harder, but I keep going and going until I get them. My chosen song ends, and the next starts, and I suddenly freeze. It's perfect. I grin.  
\--

I don't have to work at the weekend - aside from my volunteered Sunday this week - and so I go until two in the morning, with brief breaks for coffee and snacks. My routine gets better each hour, and I'm definitely extending better on the jumps, though again, the boys are banging on my door. I despise Sebastian for bringing it to my attention. His criticisms keep proving useful, but I'll never let him know that. He'll probably assume that I've taken them on board anyway.

I remember him kissing me again and grit my teeth, falling into bed and pressing my face into the pillow.

I wake up still fully dressed the next morning, my music still cycling on repeat. With a yawn, I run my hands through my hair and sit up, before grimacing at my clothes, and peeling them off, ready to put them through a quick wash before this afternoon. It's half past ten, and I throw them into the washer, the flat silent. DJ and Lewis are probably sleeping off their hangovers, then. I have a bowl of cereal, padding around in pajama pants and waiting for my washing, internally going through my movements again. I feel tense, nervous but also strange, unable to stop going through that kiss in my head. I didn't pull back straight away. A second.. or maybe two. And then that smug smile. 

I want to knock it off his damn face. I will. It's my new life goal, forget getting my own fucking business. I want to see his face falls when Francois tells him that I'm the company Romeo. Hell, maybe I'll even stay past the opening show. Let him wallow in his misery.

 

The thought makes me cheerful, and I hang my clothes out in the sunshine, on a line from my window. I'm forced to practice in my underwear, and I must look a sight, but I'm ecstatic. It isn't a half bad routine. I've even mastered that agonised, tragic look. 

 

The hours pass again, and I'm dressed in my clean clothes, tugging a pair of jogging bottoms over the lycra and snatching up my sports bag, before heading out, ominous nerves settling in my stomach as I close the door behind me. The journey to the Grand Hall seems to rush past, and before I know it, I'm walking from the tube station to the building steps, meeting Holly outside, who shares a sympathetic, nervous smile with me. 

"Sleep?" I ask her, and she shakes her head.  
"Not a wink."  
We pick up Ali and Alex in the hall, and Blondie and Tash are talking quietly together outside the room, greeting Holly with a hug when she arrives. Samantha and Antoine laugh at us as we step into the room, the two of them lounging in the corner, just here to watch. Francois is already here for once, and Sebastian sits in the corner, tying his ballet shoes on. He looks up at me through ash blonde hair as I step into the room, and I narrow my eyes at him. He winks, and then his gaze follows me as I walk to the other side of the room. We all walk in. Francois closes the door, and collects our CDs, walking over to the stereo. 

"You will all have a role." He announces, "Well done. Today decides who will take our principal roles. Good luck."

He loads the first CD. Sebastian stands, and saunters to join the rest of us in a line at the other side of the studio. 

 

Francois presses play.

 

 


	6. Sissonne

The first song is Alex', and he steps forward slowly, beginning sitting on the floor, before blooming into his rise and leap. His routine is fantastic, the song slow and lovelorn, and we all watch and clap when he's finished. I can't focus on the moves, can't appreciate the art, not when I'm so restless. I bounce from foot to foot, my palms sweating, each of my new friends performing their routines. Holly. Blondie. Ali. Tash. All amongst the other girls in the show.

 

They're all good, but they're all the same. I frown. The songs are all slow, focusing on the tragic love, and I bite the inside of my cheek nervously. My song is a risk. So far 'My Heart Will Go On' has been used twice, and other choices have included Coldplay's 'The Scientist' and Whitney Houston's 'I Will Always Love You'. It's sickly sweet, romantic to the point of boredom, though the routines are all beautiful. 

 

Finally, I watch Francois turn my CD in his fingers, and slip it into the stereo. I stand in front of my friends, hands at my sides, one leg pointed out to the side, poised and ready to dance. I feel Sebastian's eyes burn into me, and I grit my teeth. He told me to bring it on. Well, this is me. Bringing it.

'Sail' by AWOLNATION. Not the most romantic.

The beat begins, slow and harsh, rising to fast, violent crescendos almost immediately, the song angry. After all, I reasoned - Romeo and Juliet is a passionate play. Outside the 'love story' that killed four people, there are raging family feuds, forced marriages and fucking.. poison and daggers. There's a lot of passion. A lot of rage. I'm taking a risk, and I see the others glance at each other at the song choice. I don't look at Francois, concentrating on my footwork.

 

I stalk slowly around the circle, before launching into leaps or spins at each slamming beat, keeping my expression neutral but my eyes hard. I think about that kiss, the night before last. My anger at being taken in propels me forwards. 

_This is how an angel cries.._

I launch into a pirouette and then skid into an arabesque, my movements all calculated, slow and delicate and then sudden, bold. 

_Maybe I should kill myself.._

I fall at this line, throwing myself into a slide and hiding my face with an arm, hoping it looks as graceful as it did in my bedroom mirror last night. I rise up into battement kicks, interjected with more slick spins, and throw myself again as the song ends, legs extended in a jete that I'd been practicing. I shoot a look at Sebastian when I do, and land on one foot, giving a last pirouette before dropping back to the floor. My friends clap and cheer, and I sit for a few moments, panting as I smile nervously, and climb back to my feet. It went well. As well as it could have gone. I don't know if I captured Romeo's essence, but I gave my best shot. I push past Sebastian as I resume my position, and catch sight of his smirk.

 

He's the only one left, and Francois slides in his CD. He presses play.

 

\--

 

Fuck it, he's fantastic. 

We all glance at each other when Mr Brightside begins to play, and I have a moment of utter glee, thinking that he's brought the wrong CD. But he hasn't. He's gone against the trend too. And I realise that it's the perfect song. 'It was only a kiss, how did it end up like this?' How didn't I think of it? I chide myself internally. 

He's fantastic. He starts on the floor, head in his hands. He sells it, really sells it. He doesn't just dance, he acts, he performs. He cycles through the stages of a relationship from the verse to the chorus, grinning as he leaps, spins, extending his arms as he does pirouette after pirouette, kicking out a leg to give himself more momentum, though that second leg doesn't touch the floor again until he does at least three or four rotations. He's joyous, but it soon changes, skidding onto his knees at 'It was only a kiss, it was only a kiss'. His eyes slide to mine, and the agony slides away for just a moment, replaced with amusement. I scowl back, but my cheeks are pink.

 

His dancing becomes erratic, impassioned, hard kicks and rough, frenzied extensions as he leaps, as if he's fighting someone. It perfectly fits the song, the agony of that jealous lover, and I'm hating how much I enjoy watching him, eyes raking over his muscled body as it shifts and contorts, flying gracefully across the floor to land in splits, for fuck sake. He's up again in a half second, running and leaping around the room, tearing at his vest, his hair, changing moves at each pivotal word. 

_'Jealousy, turning saints into the sea.._

  
_Swimming through sick lullabies,  
Choking on your alibis..'_

His expression is agonised again, and he lands on his knees for the last few words of the song,  _'I'm Mr. Brightside._.' fading into silence as he braces a hand on the floor, and one over his eyes, as if he really is a grieving lover. The music stops, and to my chagrin, everyone is cheering. I can't not clap. It was.. fucking fantastic. I hate him even more. But he can dance. Fuck, can he dance.

 

I feel a flutter of disappointment settle in my chest. I don't have a chance against him. I was crazy to think that I did.

  
"You can practice at the barre." Francois calls, clapping his hands once. The routines have taken all but ten minutes of the session. "I will give you the principal names before you leave."

My heart leaps into my throat. I felt sure that he wouldn't tell us until Monday. Today, then. Right now. I turn to head to the barre to stretch, disheartened. I'll have to think of another way to get the ten grand. I was out of my depth here. Out of my depth from the very beginning. 

 

\--

 

Sebastian saunters over as I rest my ankle on the barre, leg out from my side as I stretch, my hands on my hip and thigh. I don't look at him, though I can hear him, breathing a little harder so soon after his energetic performance. I feel ashamed. I can't even pretend that I was better. He blew the fucking roof off. He raised the bar so high that none of us can reach it. It suddenly seems horribly unfair that he's allowed to be in this company, after being in the National.

 

"Did you like my song choice?" He murmurs teasingly, and I ignore him, though my cheeks grow pink. I know exactly what he means. It was only a kiss. He looked right at me at that fucking part. Idiot. 

"I thought you were good." He adds, resting his ankle next to mine. Of course, he can bend lower. Stretch higher. He's standing very close to me. "Brave choice of song." He says a moment later, and I roll my eyes, still facing away. I watch Holly and Tash, the two of them talking excitedly as they plie. Tash will easily get Rosaline, if that's really what she wants. Juliet is a tie between Holly, and another girl in the class, an American girl named Madeleine. Well, from what I've seen, anyway. 

Sebastian's crotch presses into my arse when I don't answer, and he bucks his hips hard, almost sending me sprawling over. I turn around to scowl at him, dropping my leg and clenching my fists.

"Watch what you're fucking doing." I snap, and he laughs, Francois watching me with beady eyes. I sigh, and prop my ankle slowly back on the barre, keeping as far away from that idiot as possible. 

  
"Then stop ignoring me." Sebastian says, and I purse my lips. He drops his voice to a murmur. "Don't act like you didn't enjoy it."

"One day." I say quietly, my voice calm and sweet. I keep facing away from him. "You're going to find a knife in your throat. You'll wake up half-dead, and I'll be there to see it all."

A beat passes in silence, and then he laughs, quiet and husky. I roll my eyes. 

"You're such a sweet talker, babe." He purrs, and I have to resist the urge to ram an elbow back into his ribs. Babe?  _Babe?_  He's standing too close again. "If I'm waking up, do I assume that you're in my bed to watch me die? Because I might let it happen. Maybe it's worth the pain, to have a night with you.."

I make a sound of disgust in my throat. He's like a fucking cheesy Italian lothario in an old film. He laughs again, and he's taking the piss. Francois' voice interrupts us.

"I have made my decision."

We all stumble around to face him, feet falling off the barre, bends abandoned, hands clasped at chests. I stand quietly, just pleading with the fucking world to give me a chance. To just give me this. It's all I want. Join the team, get the role, I've tried so fucking hard-

"Romeo - Sebastian Moran."

No.

It all seems to crash down before my eyes, though nobody moves, or says a word. Sebastian just grins. My heart plummets into my chest, and my eyes feel hot with shame, a lump in my throat. I just want to leave now. It's all been for nothing. Fucking waste of time. Blondie flashes me a small, sympathetic smile, and I just avert my gaze to the oak floor. I want to go home, now. I can feel him buzzing with excitement next to me.  Francois goes on. I'm barely listening.

"Juliet.."

I hear the gasps, the indignant exclamation from Holly's lips, feel the eyes on me. I hear Sebastian remark a bemused "..What?", his word slightly strained, confused. I blink a few times, and heat settles in my cheeks. Something sparks in my chest, and uncertainty blooms.

 

My name. He said my name. This can't be happening.

 

  
_Juliet. Or should I say - Julian!  Jim Moriarty. Congratulations, Jim!_

I don't know whether to laugh, or cry _._  


 

\--

 

 


	7. Relevé

"We will begin rehearsals on Monday." Francois says again, though his words seem to echo, fuzzy in my head. "We will decide non-principal roles then. Have a good rest."  
  
Nobody moves. They all stand, gawping at me or whispering angrily to each other, and I can feel Holly's eyes on me again, resentful. Francois turns and leaves the room, and warm fingers curl around my wrist, tugging me after him.  I don't even tell Sebastian to let go, following after him numbly, Francois seeming to expect us when he turns in the hall, a pleasant smile on his lips.  
  
"You can't be serious, Francois." Sebastian says, releasing my wrist and folding his arms across his chest. His words are strained. "Juliet is a  _girl's_  role. We have fourteen girls in there."  
  
"And they will make a fantastic ensemble." Francois answers simply, taking a BlackBerry from his pocket and beginning to tap away disinterestedly. I just look between them, secretly a touch smug with Sebastian's obvious disgruntlement. When he speaks again, it's through gritted teeth.  
  
"You can't expect me to dance with-"  
  
"A man?" Francois drawls, looking up with one arched eyebrow. I turn to look pointedly at Sebastian, raising my eyebrows too. I'm enjoying this.  
  
A muscle pulses in Sebastian's set jaw, but he doesn't answer, merely staring the dance teacher down coldly. Francois laughs, and tucks away his phone, putting an arm around each of our shoulders.  
  
"Boys," He says, a little more excitedly this time. "Think of the _controversy_. The publicity. We'll be the talk of the city." He smiles a little madly. "We'll sell out just in the pre-sales! This could make stars of you both."  
  
Something is slowly dawning on me. Juliet - or Julian, if that's what Francois is going with - is a principal role. Principal. If I play this, I'll get the ten grand, even if I don't have to beat Sebastian to get it. But with what Francois is saying, there's no way I'll be able to keep this secret. Away from Malone's prying eye, or even out of the reach of DJ and Lewis. Fuck, if they found out.. I'd never hear the end of it. Maybe, just maybe I'd  get away with it, if I was Romeo. But a girl's role?   
  
"It's not traditional." Sebastian bristles, standing stiff beneath Francois' arm. The excuse is a weak one. Reluctantly, he's coming round. 

 

 

"Traditional, Sh-maditional!" Francois remarks, and pulls back his arms, slapping us both on the back. "We will make a point! We will tackle issues, with dance. Some men would kill for this opportunity!"

"..And you're sure?" I say, slowly. "..Me, as Juli-..  Julian?" I shake my head. "Alex is so much better than me. And he's lither."

"Ahh," Francois says, passing a hand through the air in front of us, as if he can imagine the scene already. "But he is so _fair_. I want the dark to the light."

He's completely lost me now, but he goes on.

"That song, it was a risk. But I liked it. It was violence. Passion. And we will work on your extensions."

My cheeks flare red at that, and Sebastian's mouth quirks at the corner. I shoot him a scowl. Francois pulls back again, and claps his hands together.

"So no more arguments! I will see you on Monday. We will be having half group sessions. I will have you both from 2 until 4, and you will join the group, 4 until 5.30."

Without waiting for another word, he turns and minces away, and Sebastian and I stand in silence until he disappears up the stairs. Thick silence.  I feel his eyes on me, and turn after a moment, looking at him pointedly. 

"I don't like this idea any more than you do." I say flatly, and he shrugs, that smirk reappearing.

"Oh, I don't know." He murmurs. "I'm coming around to the idea."

I roll my eyes and turn to walk back to the room for my bag. He keeps up with me easily, and slides an arm around my shoulders, not allowing me to throw him off. He leans in, mouth by my ear. 

" _Really_ looking forward to that sex scene."

 

\--

 

There won't be a sex scene. This is dance, after all, I reassure myself. Though.. I've seen some fairly risque productions. Intimate dancing, kissing, all hands and intertwined legs, sliding down one another's bodies. Oh God. Unease sparks in my chest, and I finally shake him off as I step into the room, the others still inside. I bent down to pick up my bag, noticing only then that they're all silent.

 

I straighten slowly, and Holly stands in front of me, hands clenched into fists at her sides and her eyes wet. Madeleine pushes past me to leave, and Tash and Blondie stand with the three A's, Samantha looking over us all concernedly. She walks over, hands out in front of her.

"Holly.." She says, "Don't overreact.. Jim didn't-"

"You stole my role." Holly cries, distraught, and I wince. It's completely unfair of Francois of course. In a company so heavily weighted with girls, to give the lead female role to one of five boys. She glares at me, her eyes wet again, and I step forward, dropping my bag, my voice apologetic.

"I didn't want this," I say quietly, trying to reason. "I'm so sorry, Holly. And.. - the rest of you. You all had a good chance. I honestly - he thinks it'll be good publicity, or some fucking.. crap like that. I don't know. I don't. I didn't ask for this."

Holly just shakes her head, mouth turned tight down and quivering, tears spilling over as she pushes past me, Tash giving me a half apologetic smile as she rushes after her. Blondie sighs, and rubs at her eyes tiredly. She had an outsider's chance at Juliet, too. Fucking hell, they all hate me.

Join the team, get the role. It's completely backfired. 

"Try not to take it to heart." Samantha says, in that quiet Scottish lilt. She pats me on the back. "She's just upset. She's been rehearsing for the auditions nonstop for months."

"At least it was Jim though." Ali pipes up with a shrug. "Wouldn't it be worse if one of you, if one of the other girls got it? At least this way-"

"She never had a chance?" Blondie scoffs, and rolls her eyes. Ali falls silent, and looks away. Alex' eyes are on me as well, and I know that he's thinking that he was robbed, too. He could easily have played this 'Julian', and absolutely knocked it out of the park. He walks over to me, and I frown as he approaches, not sure what he's doing until he hugs me.

"Congratulations, Jim." He says and smiles, albeit a touch sadly. I allow myself a smile.

"..Thanks, Alex."

"Yeah." Ali says and nods, looking around. "Congrats, Jim. You'll do great."

Samantha smiles at me encouragingly, and Antoine pats Blondie awkwardly on the back, but she shrugs him off. Her eyes are on the floor, and after a moment, she leaves too.

"They'll come around." Antoine says and passes me a bottle of water. "All just.. fucking jealous. Hell _. I'm_  jealous."

 

I laugh quietly, and nod. "Thanks." I say, and then look at the other two, and Samantha. "I mean it. I didn't.. I didn't want this."

"We know." Samantha says, and shrugs. "If it's anyone's fault, it's Francois'."

 

I nod, and look back, Sebastian sitting by the wall and taking off his ballet shoes, fingers deft and careful. His eyes flick up to meet mine, and I look away, shaking my head. Ali grins, shrugging, having seen me.

"Hey," He says amusedly, conspiratorially. "He may be an arse, but at least he can dance."

There's no denying that, I suppose.

 

\--

 

They all file out one by one with words of support and I smile wryly, nodding until the last has gone, and just Sebastian and I remain. He stands, raising an eyebrow at me, one hand in his sports bag. 

"..Do you want something sweetheart? Or would you just like to watch me get changed?" He asks in that teasing murmur, and I tighten the arms that are folded across my chest. It still irks me that he can get to me. I'm supposed to be the killer, here. He's just a fucking.. dancer. 

 

It's the first time we've been properly alone since that kiss, and I purse my lips into a tight line at the memory. He seems to take my silence as a go ahead, and smirks, reaching back to the nape of his neck and pulling off his vest.

"O - kay." He says, in an 'I-warned-you', kind of way. I roll my eyes, watch the vest be stuffed in his sports bag before I speak.

"We need some ground rules." I say stiffly, firmly. "If we're going to do this."

"If?" He straightens again, thumbs sliding into the waistband of his lycra ballet leggings, the ones so fucking form-fitting that I have to concentrate to keep my eyes fixed on his. "I'd say it's pretty much decided. Unless you're having cold feet."

"Please." I scoff, and narrow my eyes. "I'll wipe the floor with you."

He grins, laughs quietly, those thumbs still sliding around the elastic hugging his hipbones, slow and lazy. 

"As funny as that idea is - I don't think that's the point."

I blink at him stonily, those thumbs dipping lower, revealing a pair of black boxer shorts. I don't look. I won't look. He goes on.

"Romeo and Juliet have to work in sync. It's not about one of us being better than the other.." He drags the lycra down to his knees in a few slow movements, and my eyes flick down as he straightens, the boxer shorts  a perfect black rectangle at his hips, hugging muscular thighs and drawing attention to the taut lines that roam down into - well. Forbidden territory. I turn away, fucking horrified with myself for even looking.

"Even so." I snap, "We still need ground rules. No more.. fucking.. trying to one-up me. If it's really about working together, you shouldn't need to."

My arms are folded tight around my chest, and I hear the slight slap of the lycra as he peels the leggings from his ankles, before stuffing them into the bag. My heart slams uncomfortably against my ribs, and he doesn't answer. I'm annoyed, because it means I have to turn around again - and when I do, he's standing right behind me, having crept up on me with a fucking dancer's agility.

 

I almost jump out of my skin, and he laughs again, that grin creeping over his lips. I can feel the heat emanating from his skin, close enough to see the few freckles that dot his nose and cheeks, each fucking eyelash. I go to push him back, but he grabs my hands, and places them at his waist, before sliding them down slowly to his hips. The skin is warm, muscled. I pull a face at him, leaning as far back as he can, and his eyes dip to my mouth again. 

"Don't even think about it." I say, my voice as low and threatening as I can manage.

"This wasn't in your ground rules." He murmurs back, the words quiet between us. His hands aren't on mine anymore, but my fingers still rest at his hips, and I hurriedly pull them back, and push him hard. He catches one hand, spins me in to him, and kisses me on the mouth, his arm a vice grip around my waist. 

His lips are warm and he tastes faintly of chewing gum, and his tongue brushes against mine at the same moment that I realise what I'm doing. That he's lifted me, just like a damned girl, that I've pointed my fucking toes, slid my hands into his hair. My eyes snap open with a gasp into his mouth, and he grins again, setting me down. 

 

I stagger backwards, glaring at him. It's fairly obvious that he's.. hard.. and I suspect, obvious that I am too. Lycra isn't the most concealing of materials, and I quickly turn away, running for my sports bag.

"I'll see you on Monday, then." He calls amusedly, his words a little breathless. "..We're going to get on _just_ fine."

I shoot him a look, and he just winks, still standing in his underwear, though he turns and saunters back to his things, a smirk on his lips.

 

\--

 

I run to the tube station, not even changing into normal clothes, my ballet gear attracting a few odd looks. It's only two stops until I'm home, but I'm jittery, restless the whole time, bag held in front of my crotch. He's still playing with my mind, messing with my head, even after he's gotten the role. It doesn't make any sense. No good can possibly come from it, and I feel a sickening dread in the pit of my stomach, unhappy to face the truth.

 

I liked it. 

The words float through my mind, small and shameful, and I swallow, climbing off at my stop and pacing back to the flat. I did. I liked it. The taste of him, his heat, his strength. That cocky arrogance, even. Repulsive, and yet addictive. His body, warm, pressing against mine as he lifted me, strong arms curled around my back.

 

Fuck him. I hate him.

I rush into the flat, and Lewis gives a flabbergasted "..Jim!?" at my outfit, turning around on the sofa to gawp at me. I march straight into my bedroom and slam the door shut, propping a chair under the handle and drawing the curtains. And then, a hand braced on the desk, I slide my hand into my leggings and begin to stroke myself, hard and fast. Sebastian floats through my mind, his smell, his taste, the tight muscles of his chest, his stomach, the carved lines of his abdomen, his skin, bare except for those tight black boxer shorts.

I speed up, half groans catching in my throat as I lean over the desk, still able to taste him if I concentrate, feel the warmth of his arms at my back as he lifts me off the ground. Feel him, hard against my own crotch..

 

I come with a staggered shout, and bite down on my lips, spilling over my fingers with a dizzy bliss. I'm breathless, panting as I come down from the high, and I sit down in my desk chair and close my eyes, cursing myself.

 

I'm in trouble.

 

\--

 

 


	8. Aplomb

On Sunday morning, I wake with a groan as my alarm clock bleeps at six AM, reminded of my promised day of work. I push myself up, pad into the shower and return ten minutes later, tiredly dragging on my blacks. I don't drive, so I have to get a bus and then walk to the training warehouse, eating a cereal bar on the way.

 

As expected, there's no one there, but I run the circuits anyway, taking just as long on the weights. Malone has cameras everywhere, and it's an embarrassing accusation to be told that you aren't training enough. As I run, I think about the show. Romeo and Juliet. Wondering about exactly how it'll be interpreted, who'll play the other key roles.. how the hell this 'Julian' thing will even work.

 

It distracts me, and I finish within a couple of hours and get the bus home again, sweaty and even more tired than when I left. My second shower lasts longer than the first, and I eat a bowl of scrambled eggs before getting the tube and a bus to Malone's headquarters, again nearly deserted on a Sunday. In fact, when I get to the office, it's just Malone sitting at his desk, flipping through some files. He looks up when I walk in, and smiles his shark's smile, eyes twinkling in that fat, rubbery face. He entwines his fingers on the desk.

"Jim. How fantastic that you're here. Do come and take a seat."

I nod, giving a half smile as I walk over, sitting in one of the leather seats in front of him uncertainly. I feel like I'm at a fucking parents evening or something. Where is everyone?

"..Sorry, sir.." I say, "I didn't know that we were an empty office today."

"That's quite alright." Malone says, and leans back a touch, rotund belly still able to nudge the edge of the desk. He catches me staring and smiles again, and I smile back. One of our men appears from the back room, dressed in black, and sets down two coffees in front of us. I suppose not everyone is gone, then. But still - the gesture is surprising, and I'm suddenly worried that I'm about to be fucking executed, or sent to work in Africa or something.

 

"How are you, Jim?" He says after a long moment, and I'm nodding, hands around my coffee cup.

"Yes. Yeah, I feel much better. Just a sickness bug, I think. Overnight-"

"Good." He declares the word with flat authority, ending whatever I was saying. I just nod again, and sip at my coffee. Silence passes, and I watch as he empties four spoonfuls of sugar into his drink, and stirs with a methodical precision. He doesn't speak again until he's set the spoon down on the tray, and when he does, it's with a booming and pleasant tone, as if he's asking after a friend or family member.

"So - how's the ballet?"

"..The.. the what, sir?" I manage to stutter, my heart in my throat. It was his daughter who helped get me into the Blue Ribbon Company, with a signed letter from Malone himself - though I was under the impression that he wasn't to know what the letter was for. I was hoping, anyway. I don't want him to stop me. My mouth feels dry, and he gives me a conspiratorial smile.

"Now, now, James. I've nothing against my men participating in the arts. In fact, I suppose it's rather good for you - marvellous exercise, is it not?"

"Yes. It is." I say, and he continues almost straight away.

"Well then."

We fall into an uneasy silence again, and I hold my coffee, looking absently around the office. Malone's next question catches me off guard.

"Have you heard of a man by the name of Abram Bogdanov?"

Well, I think I'd remember a name like that. I shake my head.

"Abram is an old friend." Malone explains. "He's very important for business. Not only is he a fantastic contact and connection, but he's our main supply route to Russia. Drugs, bootleg alcohol, arms deals - you name it, he's our man. Huge market out there."

I nod, listening intently. I can't see the relevance so far. Maybe he wants to put me on a hit, take out this Abram. Well, it wouldn't be my first. He goes on.

"His network is small. But elite. Less than forty."

I raise my eyebrows, words slipping from my mouth. "..And yet he has that much power?" I ask a little dubiously. Malone himself is powerful, but he has around 2,000 men behind him. To be that big with 40 is unheard of. 

"Exactly." Malone says, and sips at his coffee. "Imagine his 2,000. They'd be unstoppable."

I nod, and then it's quiet again. Malone seems to be weighing something up, deciding how to say it. 

"..He's asked for a little favour."

"..Oh?"

"Yes. And as it happens, it seems to fit our current situation rather perfectly."

I nod, like I'm pleased with this. I still don't know what the hell he's talking about, or what he's referencing in 'our current situation'. I decide to just sit back and let him explain. He smiles.

 

"As luck would have it, Bogdanov is rather big in the ballet circuit."

I raise my eyebrows, and Malone goes on. Still never heard of him.

"His company is elite. Taken as children, they live in a boarding house, and are trained in the art of dance. They train for several hours a day, with their other lessons consisting of gun warfare, knife-throwing, body combat and surveillance. Optional classes are added, including escape artistry, and fencing."

I blink, a little alarmed. He's telling me about some kind of.. ballet team? Trained agents and dancers, in one? The idea is laughable, but then - I'm just that. A killer and a dancer. But taken as children..? It's almost inhumane.  But Malone is right. Elite wouldn't even begin to cover it.

"They're taken from around the world. Mainly Russia of course, but then wherever Bogdanov sees promise. The Middle East, the UK.. He had a particularly lovely French girl a few years ago. Utterly lethal with a knife, and those legs.."

Malone shakes his head, and I pull a face, slowly understanding.

  
"..You want a way in?" I ask, dubiously. "You want me to try and.. work my way into the company?"

The old man looks at me for a moment, bemused, and then starts laughing, shaking his head.

"Heavens, no!" He says. "Bogdanov and I are old friends. I envy his skilled men, but I don't want to dismantle his empire. Small as it is."

I'm a little exasperated, still not sure what he wants from me, but I nod and shrug, pushing my coffee cup away from me.

"..What is it, then?" I ask, trying to sound interested. It's an intriguing idea, but I'm not sure how useful I can be.

"Like I say, he's asked for a little favour."

 

"..Okay?"

"Last year, he had one of his leads make a run for it. I've never known it to happen, and neither has he. Generally, they're happy there." Malone waves a hand. "But anyway. He can't have this bloke wandering around willy nilly, sharing their secrets with the world. He needs him dead. And for the disrespect, too. Abram _raised_ him."

"Of course." I say, and shrug. It's like Malone's company. You don't leave. You die. I imagine it's worse, having a recruit from a child.

"The company, as I'm sure you're aware, is the National."

I still at that. The National Company.  _The National Company_  are all fucking.. spies and killers?! That's fucking.. that's.. absolutely..

The National?!

I must look flabbergasted, because Malone laughs, and I blink, still trying to understand. And.. and wait a minute.. the National..

It hits me like a ton of bricks, even without Malone's next words.

"His name was Sebastian Moran."

The office seems to swim before my eyes, a roaring in my ears. It doesn't make sense. It does - perfect sense.. But.. but it doesn't make sense. Malone carries on, words seeming to blur together, my heart stuttering in my chest. It's insanity. Utter.. insanity..

 "Abram has reason to believe that he's in one of London's lesser known companies."

Sebastian, not batting an eyelid at my confession that I kill people. Sebastian, the single most talented dancer that I've ever met.

Sebastian, stolen from his home as a child, raised by Abram Bogdanov into the National Company.

 

Sebastian, trained to a higher standard than me. 

Sebastian, stealthy as he followed me to the tube station, as I turned to find him behind me. So quick as he dipped to kiss me. 

Sebastian. Dangerous.

"James?"

I realise that I'm sitting, staring rather numbly at the table, my fingernails digging into the leather upholstery of the chair. I blink up at Malone, who looks at me with a concerned frown. I shake my head.

"Do you know him?"

How satisfying it would be to kill him. Wipe that smirk from his lips. But I can't. I know, I can't. Last night was enough of a revelation for me. And hell, I still need that ten grand. My mind is whirring. I can't seem to take it in. There are two Sebastian's in my head. Cocky fuck of a dancer, and this.. ghost agent that Malone needs caught. I could hand him over. I probably wouldn't even need to kill him..

So tempting.

  
"..No." I say, and lean back in my chair. "No, I don't know him."

Malone rubs at his chin with a frown, and then clicks his fingers. "I want you to keep an eye out. Talk to people - ballet people - find out who they know. Someone must know him, for Christ's sakes, he's one of _Abram's_! They're.. legendary. He'll be on a stage somewhere."

My palms have started to sweat.

"Of course," I agree, and push myself to standing. "If I.. hear anything.. If I.. see.." My words falter, and I clear my throat. "I'll ask around. But there are a lot of companies in London." I flap my arms, giving a half laugh. Nervous.  "That's if he even stayed."

Malone nods. "Of course. Abram thinks he's stayed close, but he might be wrong. It's terrible. Like a father to the lad, he was." He sighs, and I swallow, giving a flat smile in agreement. Malone looks over his glasses at me. "You'll get double pay for this ballet lark." He says. "If you keep on with it. And keep looking. We'll get him."

"We'll get him." I agree hollowly, and Malone laughs, rubbing his hands together.

"A favour from Abram Bogdanov isn't to be scoffed at!"

"No, sir. He sounds powerful."

"He definitely is, James." He leans back in his chair. "Go on. Get on your way. I'll check in next week - and take off any training time you need."

I'm already halfway out of the room when he calls again, heart slamming into my ribs, trying to get it into my mind, to understand, to make the pieces fit.

"And James - James! Get me a ticket to your opening night!"

\--

 


	9. Balançoire

Sunday night, I can't sleep. I came home from headquarters, got some dinner and then watched TV for a while, but I can't stop thinking, thinking, thinking. When I finally go to bed, I lay there for hours just staring up at the ceiling, and it cycles through my mind over and over again, until none of it makes sense anymore.  
  
Sebastian ran from The National. Cocky Sebastian is a trained killer. He's better than me at dancing, and he's better at me at fucking.. crime, too. Taller. Stronger. Faster. Stealthier.

 

I wonder if he's hiding. Where he goes after ballet. Quite frankly, he's an idiot to stay around here, though I suppose if he's lived here all his life.. 

 

I wonder where he came from. Where he was stolen from, as a child. I have so much I want to fucking know. And I'm torn, too. I could seriously do well with Malone, maybe even advance a rank if I turn Sebastian in. If Bogdanov gets him back, he'll be grateful. Though, a little voice reminds me, he doesn't want him back. He just wants him dead.

 

With an exasperated sigh, I push myself out of bed and into the lounge, the boys still sitting up and watching a film. Lewis sprawls, legs out on the sofa, whilst DJ sits on a beanbag on the floor, the film some kind of run of the mill car chase movie. I sit down anyway after making a hot tea, and watch with them. 

After around ten minutes, Lewis looks over at me, an eyebrow raised. "You not seeing your girl tonight?" He asks me, and I roll my eyes.

"Don't have a girl. I'm not at training tomorrow though."

  
DJ sits up at that, indignant. "How?"  He asks, rather than 'why'.

I shrug, trying not to act smug. "Special mission. Very hush hush business."

"He give it to you today?" Lewis asks, looking equally disgruntled, hand buried in a bowl of popcorn. I nod, and stretch out in the arm chair, taking another sip of the tea. DJ slumps down in the beanbag, swearing and looking sick with jealousy. I grin.

 

We watch the film for a little while longer, and then DJ looks up at me, obviously having been dwelling on my news.

"Go on then. What is it?"

"What's what?"

"You know. This special fucking mission."

I smile again, patronisingly. "I told you. It's very hush hush. A secret."

He just narrows his eyes and slumps down again, calling me a motherfucker. Lewis gives him a shove to the back of his head with a foot.

"He's playing with you. Idiot."

Having finished my tea, I get up, taking my cue to leave. I ruffle DJ's hair as I pass, and then leap out of the way as he lunges at me. I'm still laughing as I lock myself into my room.

 

I manage to get to sleep at last at about 1 am, my whirring mind finally settling tiredly. But when I close my eyes, I see Sebastian. I need to know more. And I have a plan.

 

\--

 

I'm annoyed with myself when I wake up at 8am, having another five hours to kill before I can leave for ballet, and even then I'll be early. The flat is silent, DJ and Lewis already out at training, and I pad around the flat eating bacon sandwiches and watching trashy TV for a while - Jeremy Kyle, who I decide is first on my list if I get my own damned business.

 

The past few days seem to have flown past, a blur of training and office talks and ballet class and tryouts, and Sebastian's lips pressed against mine. I shiver, hands tightening on my plate as I remember his arms around my back, lifting me off my feet as I kissed back, my fingers in his hair. My cheeks are pink, just at the thought.

I'd be dreading seeing him today after that, if it wasn't for what I know now. If I wasn't so desperate to find out more, to piece together the facts. I won't believe it, not until I've seen it with my own eyes.

Killing time, I go shopping for food, emptying the money from the jar in the kitchen to buy the groceries. It kills a couple of hours, and I wrap up some snacks to shove in my sports bag for later, before getting dressed at a leisurely pace. I swear, this day is absolutely crawling by.

 

When I leave at last, it's with a definitive slam of the door. I'm going to my first rehearsal today, not as Jim the danseur but Jim the agent, though I'll have to somehow combine the two. If Sebastian's been doing it his whole life, it can't be that hard.

 

\--

 

When I arrive, I'm surprised to see Blondie standing outside, though she frowns at me when I approach. I say hi, and receive no answer.

"What are you doing here?" I ask. "I thought we don't do group rehearsals until-"

"We start at 2." She interrupts haughtily, crossing her arms over her chest. "We'll train with Liona. She comes in to help when we go into production.  _You_ only join us at 4."

She stalks off, and I watch her, blinking a little surprisedly. Well, she answered my question at least. A moment later I sigh, and head inside. This isn't my fault. I wanted Romeo, for Christ's sakes. A few more of them are hanging around outside the basement room, and Ali greets me with a laugh and a slap on the back, asking if I'm excited.

"I suppose-" I begin, trying to avoid the venomous gazes of Holly and Madeleine, but my words are interrupted by a slow drawl, amused and low.

"I thought I'd find you down here."

I whip around and Sebastian stands there, already dressed in his lycra and a long vest, muscular arms folded over his chest. My eyes immediately dip down to his crotch, remembering seeing him in next to nothing only the day before yesterday, and a sly smile slides onto his face.

I can't seem to put it together. Sebastian. A killer. Like me. Better than me. It's not right. It can't be. Maybe this Sebastian has a different last name. Maybe this 'Moran' is in a different company. Surely there's more than one male dancer named Sebastian in London.

  
"..Are we not rehearsing down here?" I ask a little bluntly, and he shakes his head, holding out a hand. I just look at it, but then slap it away and walk ahead of him, Ali and Antoine laughing quietly with an  _'ohhhhh'_  that makes Sebastian roll his eyes and follow after me.

"So  _cold_." He teases, keeping pace with me until I reach the top of the stairs and then stop, uncertain as to where we're going. He folds his arms across his chest, amused. "Go on, then." He says. "Lead the way. Seeing as you're so keen to stalk on ahead."

 

"Obviously, I don't know where we're going." I say, disgruntled. He slides a hand down, and pats me on the arse, and I shoot forwards, lurching away from his hand.

"Right direction." He says, grinning. I scowl at him, and begin marching towards the corridor in front, not entirely sure when to put my plan into action. I could just ask him, but that seems like a stupid idea. Hi Sebastian - are you an elite assassin dancer on the run from your former boss and father figure?

I'm frowning as I walk, and he whistles, sauntering along beside me. He's so fucking.. happy. It's irritating. I don't exactly want to have this conversation before we go into rehearsal either, but I reason that Francois will be there the whole time, and then the rest of the group. And I don't think I can bear three hours of not knowing.

 

If this goes wrong, it's going seriously wrong. It'll be ruined. Ten grand lost.

 

I can see the room that we're heading for at the end, already see the barre stretching to the door, the oak floor flooded with light, the strains of classical music playing. But I turn fast, and push Sebastian up against the corridor wall. To my chagrin, he lets me. He arches an eyebrow, smile still playing on his lips, not appearing surprised at all. Not shocked. Not bothered. I lick my lips, irritated, and his gaze slides to them. 

 

Another idea sparks. I lean in, my body pressed against his against the wall, nothing between us but lycra, and I stand on my tiptoes. My eyes slide to his lips, and very carefully, I take advantage of his distraction, slipping my knife from my waistband ever so slowly. 

"Jim.." He murmurs quietly, and I let my mouth press to his, enjoying the way his lips feel warm and soft against my own. 

 

And then I plunge the knife towards his chest.

 

\--

 

 

He's impossibly fast. 

 

Strong fingers jerk my wrist back, and the knife drops with a clatter onto the floor, before my arm is up and behind my back painfully, and he has me pressed to the opposite wall, cheek against the wallpaper. I'm gasping, blinking, trying to process what just happened, and his mouth finds my ear, his words low and threatening.

_"Who sent you?"_

"Jim! Sebastian!"  Francois voice rings out loudly, and Sebastian drops me, stepping away and leaving me to rest, rather shaken, by the wall, the dance teacher gliding out of the new room to chide us both. "What are you doing? You are both late! Get inside here now."

Neither of us move. Sebastian glares at me warily, and every muscle in his body taut, telling me that he's ready to either kill me, or run. Maybe he thinks that Bogdanov sent me. In hindsight, my method of finding out who he really was probably shouldn't have been to attempt to kill him straight away. After all, if he was innocent, he'd be dead. And I'd be Romeo-less. But it worked. I stare back at him, eyes roaming over his face suspiciously, trying to see how I didn't guess it before.

 

"Now." Francois barks, his word a shout. Reluctantly, we file into the room, after picking our sports bags off the floor. Sebastian goes into the opposite corner of the room to tie on his shoes, and I stay by the door. My fingers are shaking as I lace on my ballet shoes, and I have to concentrate on the task, Sebastian not looking at me. Francois is oblivious of the tension in the room as he dances over to the stereo in the corner, and plugs in his Ipod.

"Today we will do the first meet." He says, flipping through his songs. "Liona will decide on roles and orders for the others, but with you two, we will go scene by scene. The first meet!"

 

I just nod, and Sebastian doesn't say anything, still facing away. Francois is lost in his own musings, smiling as he steps gracefully around the room, hands floating through the air as he speaks.

"The first meet is in three stages. We will show them all, in dance. We have  _the meet_ , the  _fall in love_ , and the _realisation_." He says the last word dramatically, and then gives a gasp, stilling as if stricken by a terrible secret. I have to resist rolling my eyes. 

"Okay." He claps his hands together. Sebastian straightens, still facing the wall. "I will put on a track, and we will see what happens. And then, we will go through what worked, and it will be properly choreographed."

Sebastian turns to face me, and his eyes are cold. No trace of that cocky dancer. He thinks I'm here to kill him. He wants to kill me first. My mouth is dry, and I force myself to swallow, to try and tell him that it isn't why I'm here, before he does something he'll regret. But there's no time. We're stretching, limbering up at opposite ends of the barre as Francois picks a track, and I watch Sebastian the whole time, though he won't look at me.

"Remember," Francois calls, the clicking of his thumb stopping, signifying that he's found a track he likes. Sebastian and I turn, ready to begin. "We have the meet,  the fall in love, and the realisation. In just this one dance."

 

He stalks over to me. "Jim. Your father is going to marry you to a girl that you do not know. You are tired of being a trapped bird."

He goes to Sebastian next, "Sebastian. You are miserable, lonely.. you lust after a girl that you cannot have but then - you meet the most handsome boy, you have ever seen. I want that realisation - of sexuality, as well as attraction. Love, and shock. Horror, and uncertainty."

He looks between us, and we both nod. Sebastian curls his fingers into fists at his sides. Francois doesn't see. I swallow and look away. This isn't the right time for this sort of dance, for this sort of closeness. What if he snaps?

 

Francois claps his hands twice, and paces back to his stereo, lifting the iPod and smiling at us.

"Show me what you have!" He announces, and then starts the music.

 

\--

 

The music is low and happy, an upbeat tone that is slow and building. Sebastian and I both step forward, though I'm not sure what to do to improvise. But then, I can't really concentrate at the moment anyway. 

 

A party. I'm at a party. My father is going to marry me off. I'm miserable. 

I lift my eyes, looking around as if shy as I begin to circulate the room with slow pointed steps, hands delicately pointed by my sides. I give a few lazy turns, pirouetting with a leg extended and then leaping lightly into the next, trying to remain carefree and disinterested, as if none of the other guests can hold my attention. I try not to look at Sebastian, but I think he's doing more of the same, albeit sticking to the sides of the room, whilst I flit around the centre. 

 

I feel like I'm being circled by a shark. 

 

I feel the moment when his eyes settle on me. My skin prickles, and Francois holds his fists to his mouth, watching intently. I give another pirouette, slow and taunting, walking gazelle-like back into the centre, before stopping almost directly in front of him, looking up at him as if surprised to be intercepted. He smiles, but his eyes are hard. I take a sliding step back, and he matches it, gliding towards me for each step I take back, until we're caught in a chase, and my back is about to hit the wall.

 

His hands slide around my waist before I hit the brickwork and he lifts me, turning me in the air, and I point my toes. I dip down into a plie as I land, and his hands remain at my waist. The tension is thick between us, and my fingers are light, cautious as I slide a hand up by his face, turning his cheek towards me. He holds my gaze for a moment, unreadable, then he pushes me away, more forcefully than I was expecting.

 

I manage to stay upright  and swallow, continuing my circling steps, Sebastian I think, pretending that we've been intercepted by another guest. But I saw that glimmer of hardness in his eyes. He circles back to me after a moment, sliding down onto one knee, taking my hand and kissing it, though I turn and leap into a jete, legs extended, and let him follow. 

 

We're both smiling, even if forced, following each other around the floor in a dance - spinning and leaping, taking each other's hands, and he lifts me again by the waist, though I slowly watch the agony seep into his expression. For a moment, I blink at him unhappily, before realising what he's doing. We're at the 'realisation' part. I plaster the same shock onto my own face, letting him slide me slowly down his body to the floor, my hands coming to rest lightly at his chest.

 

He lets himself be pulled away into a fall by his left arm, so convincingly that it's almost as if someone has pulled him hard, sending him sprawling onto the oak floor. I do the same, albeit in the opposite direction, and then the two of us look back at each other from where we lay, our gazes harrowed. We both slide and turn to get to our feet, and then begin to circle again, dubious, cautious. 

 

The song begins to fade, and then Francois is clapping, "Very good, very good." He says, excited. "I saw the meet. I saw the realisation." He claps again. "I liked the ending. But we must work on the _love_."

I look down at my shoes, not saying a word, but Sebastian speaks gruffly, running his hands through his hair as he turns on the spot.

"The love was there." He mutters. "It'll come out with better choreography."

"We could try again." I offer, and he shoots me a look. I shut up, and Francois frowns, looking between us.

"I was giving the best I could give." Sebastian says crisply. "Maybe it's the partnership that's the problem."

His words are scathing, hateful, and Francois shakes his head.

"No, no." He says. "There is no problem. This is the first rehearsal. That was.. _incredible_." He gestures with his hands, and then points. "Again. But this time, I want love at first sight. The dance is love. The meet, and the realisation are the beginning and end. Love is the centre. The main course."

 

Sebastian scowls. I purse my lips.

 

We go again.

 

\--

 

We do better, this time. Sebastian chases me, pursues me, pulls me into his arms and we sink into a fall together, later performing a jete side by side. But he's still holding back. I've seen him dance alone and with the girls. He can do better. He's preoccupied by his rage, and I feel it in the stiff set of his chest against mine as we slide together, in the harsh grabs of his fingers on my wrists, my legs, around my waist.

  
Right now, he can't do love. But I suppose I don't blame him. He still thinks I've been sent to kill him. Which, I suppose, I have.

We go again, and again, each time Francois demanding more 'love', and each time, Sebastian getting tenser and tenser. He's pulled so tight, he's going to explode soon. He needs fight or flight, and right now he can neither kill me or run for his life. I can see why it would grate on him. This is all my fucking fault.

 

At last, it's almost four. Sebastian throws me into a fall, and I'm back up, gliding across with my arms outstretched as if running from him, and he watches morosely, reaching for me with fingers curling closed on thin air. This time, Francois applauds, though he sighs again afterwards.

"We will choreograph this tomorrow. I have some ideas. Fantastic ideas.. But still, more _love_. I want more  _passion."_  


He cuts the music again, fiddling with his iPod as Sebastian and I pull as far away from each other as possible, disappearing to our respective sports bags in opposite corners of the rooms. Francois heads for the door.

"No group practice for you two today. Tomorrow, you may join. Today, I will go over what Liona has done. Check the roles, and correct  mistakes."

I nod, stuffing my ballet shoes away. I'm glad. Another hour and a half, even in a room full of other people, could make him snap. Sebastian doesn't even look over. Francois checks the clock on the wall with a sound of impatience, and then gives us a half wave as he walks out, pausing to lean down and kiss me on the forehead. "My Julian!"

A moment later, he's gone, and I swallow, turning to look back at Sebastian. He's walking slowly to the door, and as I watch, he slams it shut and locks it, locking me inside with him. My heart rockets. My knife is in the corridor. He's taut, tense, raging as he stands with his hand still on the handle, and when his free hand falls down to his side, I see the gun. It must have been in his sports bag.

 

My heart leaps into my throat.

 

He's going to kill me.

 

\--

 


	10. Battu

"..Sebastian," I say, my hands held out in front of me, though I still sit on the floor, shoes half unlaced. I slide backwards across the floor, trying to get as far away from him as possible. "Sebastian, listen to me-"  
  
"Who sent you?" He repeats with cold monotony, turning with the gun in hand, and pointing it at me. His eyes are hard, his muscles taut, and all at once I see the man that Malone was talking about. I wonder if his kills are as graceful as his jetes. I wonder if I'll find out.   
  
"It's not important." I say, and shake my head, making a move to climb to my feet, though he turns the gun sideways, and I freeze, swallowing. "I wasn't-"  
  
"Who." He repeats, through gritted teeth, and takes a step forwards, clicking off the safety. "..sent you?"  
  
"I wasn't trying to kill you." My voice is pleading, and my cheeks flush pink at the realisation. I purse my lips flat, eyeing the gun. He narrows his eyes, a bitter, disbelieving smile on his lips.  
  
"You tried to stab me." He points out flatly.  
  
"I wanted to know if you really were who I thought you were."  
  
I take the risk, slowly climbing to my feet, though my hands are still held palm out, trying to reason with him. He merely moves the gun, dragging it upwards slowly to fix the aim at my chest.   
  
"And if I wasn't?" He says, just as gruffly. "You'd have killed me."  
  
I nod. "..But you are."  
  
He's still for a moment, and then sets down the gun carefully on the floor, and I breathe a long sigh of relief. He straightens, and then punches me hard in the stomach, the pain slamming through me and taking my breath away, dragging a ragged cry from my throat. His hand at the back of my neck, he holds me against him, professionally rather than intimately, not letting me crumple down to the floorboards. I'm seeing fucking stars. I can't breathe.  
  
"That was for attempting to kill me." He says calmly, and I'm blinking back angry tears, embarrassed for not expecting it, for not being able to block it. I should have been able to block it. My stomach throbs. I might be sick. Sebastian tugs me back a little, meeting my bleary gaze with his own.   
  
"Now." He says, crisp. "Who do you work for?"  
  
"He - asked.. he asked.." My hand slides down to my stomach, and I can't finish my sentence. I'm fucking humiliated by how badly I'm taking just one hit. I feel dizzy, pain searing through me as I try to straighten, and he swears under his breath, bending down and picking me up. He carries me across the room like a fucking child, and then sets me down carefully on a chair in the corner, bending down in front of me.   
  
"Don't pretend like you didn't deserve that." He says, before frowning. He closes his eyes, anger ebbing slightly, his words quiet. "You need to tell me who you work for. And you need to tell me now. Don't make me force you, Jim, if that's even your real-"  
  
"Of course it's my real name, you fucking idiot." I spit, angry at being so damned weak, at going about this all wrong. He raises an eyebrow at me, and I sigh. Forget it. I have no fucking loyalty to Malone anyway. I'm already planning to overthrow him.  
  
"George Malone." I say quietly, closing my eyes. Fucking hell, my stomach aches. It's my entire middle. He's strong. "I was doing this for the money. I want my own business." I open one eye and look at him at that, but he remains indifferent. Good. The last thing I want is him running to Malone. "But he found out, and now he thinks I'm in the perfect position to find you."  
  
Sebastian's frown deepens, an edge to his words for a moment. "..Does he know I'm in this company?"  
  
"No." I say haughtily, and sit up a little more, wincing. Sebastian has the gall to look a little guilty. "I told him I'd never heard of you. Of course I knew straight away who you fucking were."  
  
"And you wanted to confirm." He says slowly, understanding at last. I just glare at him, and he tips his head to one side, a shadow of one of those smiles on his lips again, though his words are exasperated. "..You couldn't think of a better way than trying to carve into my chest in the hallway?"  
  
"It's not something you just  _ask,_ " I say witheringly back, and then give a half groan, my stomach giving another jolt as I shift. "Fuck you." I growl, hand splayed on my stomach. "I hope they fucking catch you."  
  
Sebastian rolls his eyes, but he looks better. Relaxed again. Guilty, as he watches me in pain. I know I deserved it, but fucking Christ it hurts.   
  
"Come here." He says at last, taking pity on me and sliding his arms beneath the crook of my legs and back again, bringing me down onto the floor. I let him pull up my vest, and he frowns again at my bare stomach, the bruise already flowering over the skin. I feel better laying down, though. I close my eyes, and he takes off his own vest, sliding it beneath my head. 

  
"Bastard." I mutter, and he runs warm fingers over the skin of my stomach, my mouth going dry. 

"..You don't seem the type to work for Malone." He comments, a little amusedly. He keeps those fingers on my bare skin, drawing patterns over the bruise. It's light. It tickles. I like it. The ache is slowly ebbing.

"You don't seem the type to be a trained killer either." I scoff, "But here we are."

 

"..You didn't even try and block that punch." He says, and my cheeks flush pink with shame. My eyes settle on the panelling, my voice a quiet mumble.

"I'm better with words. Planning. Not my fists."

"..Not great with knives, either."

"Oh, fuck off."

He laughs quietly and then after a moment of hesitation, lays down on his back next to me. I feel slightly relieved. He believes me. He must. I have no reason to lie after all, and a little digging could probably prove exactly who I work for. A few long moments of silence pass, and his fingers leave my skin. We both stare at the ceiling, Sebastian shirtless and my bruised stomach on show. Regardless, it feels almost peaceful somehow. We've reached an unsteady truce.He's the first to know about my ballet/agent double life, not including Malone. I suppose he must know how it feels.

"...So you chose to work for Malone?" He says dubiously at last, looking over at me, his arms folded behind his head. He sounds a little surprised, uncertain.

"He recruited me straight out of secondary school." I answer truthfully, still staying a few inches away from him. I'm wary, after that damned hit.  "I was top of all my classes, but bored of authority. I'd pulled a few pranks." I'm quiet for a moment. "I killed a boy when I was very young. Experimenting with chemicals. It was kind of an accident, and kind of ..not. I wasn't sure it would work."

"Nice." Sebastian says, sarcastic but with a half smile.

 

"Do you remember..?" I begin to ask, but he's already shaking his head. He shifts closer a little, and so do I rather unconsciously, interested in his story.

"I was one of the youngest he'd ever taken. I was three, I think. Everything before Bogdanov is just.. shapes and sounds."

"..Three." I repeat, a little sad. No wonder he's good at dancing. At fighting. It's been his life for almost.. well. His life.

"You better not be planning on fucking reporting in on this." He says suddenly, and turns to narrow his eyes at me, his tone harsh again. I blink back at him, unfazed, my words irritated.

"I have just as much to lose as you do. You know what he'll say if he finds out I lied to him? What he'll  _do_? Not to mention I just told you I want to  _overthrow_  him.."

Sebastian is quiet for a moment, and then gives a half shrug, settling back against the floor. "..Suppose you've got a point."

"Malone said Bogdanov had never had someone leave before." I say, and make to sit up, though an involuntary pained sound slips from my mouth, and I wince. Sebastian sits up again, truly looking guilty now and frowning at me. He slides his hands around my waist, and I grow still, not sure where this is going. He's no longer the cocky dancer that kissed me, but nor is he the killer that bruised my stomach. I let him drag me to him, and I sit against him, my back to his chest, his legs on either side of mine.

"He's right." Sebastian says at last, the skin of his chest warm against my back. Hot fingers come to rest on my stomach again, ghosting lightly over the bruising, and I try to pretend that my heart isn't skittering in my chest. That this isn't breaking a thousand boundaries. I'm supposed to turn him in. Kill him. Hate him, at the very least.  He presses his mouth to my hair for a moment,  and I swallow, forcing myself to remember to breathe. "He's like my father. A father. To all of us - all of them. You grow up not knowing anything else. You need his praise. You crave it."

  
"..But you left." I point out, and I can hear the slight smile in his voice when he speaks. 

"..I saw through it. It's.. sick."

Sick? So far it 's sounded good to me. Like a home. Like a family. I frown, and he carries on, his fingers roaming away from the bruises, warm as they trail up and over my chest, and then back down to the waistband of the lycra leggings. He keeps speaking, his voice quiet.

"They're fiercely competitive. But a family. They're brothers and sisters..All.. stolen kids. And he's the worst of them. He fucks some of the girls."

 

I turn around to look, horrified at him.

"They're all in their twenties." He hastens to assure me. "But they've grown up with him as a father. He just.. picks and chooses. And the same with the shows, and the jobs. It's daddy's favourite." He makes a sound of disgust. I lean back against him. I nod, and we fall into silence. It's understandable. He's lucky that he got out. I don't have the strongest moral compass, but Christ, Bogdanov's operation sounds fucking.. sick, even to me.

 

We fall into silence. Comfortable silence, even if my heart continues to thud hard, being so close to him. We know the truth of each other, and it's nice. I doubt anyone else knows his secret, and only Malone knows mine. And I understand. He understands. His hands continue to roam over my chest, and my body betrays me with a shiver, goosebumps rising on my skin. And they aren't the only thing.. rising. His fingers slide down slowly to the lycra waistband, fingertips slipping beneath, enough for me to choke out a nervous sentence.

 

"..I'm sorry about the knife." The words come out jumbled, a mess of syllables. My cheeks are hot again.

He leans down, pressing his lips to my neck, and I tilt my head to the side automatically, shuddering at the sensation. He begins to move slowly, peppering long, careful kisses to the skin as his fingers slide down beneath the lycra, brushing against me, hard and tenting in my underwear.

"..I'm sorry that I punched you in the stomach." He says, and I just shake my head. It doesn't matter. Nothing matters. His fingers slide into my underwear, and I arch my back, a strangled sound catching in my throat, and he laughs quietly by my ear, before resuming the slow kisses to my neck. 

"..I could have sworn you hated me." He murmurs slowly, and closes his hand around me, fingers just as warm on the hot skin. I'm already near rocking against him, biting down on my lips and unable to restrain a quiet groan as he gives me a stroke. Somewhere, somehow, this is wrong. I can't quite remember why.

"..Yeah.." I say, breathless, eyes finding his for a moment. Amused green eyes look back at me, but his pupils are dilated, only a sliver of that green still visible. I can feel him too, pressing against my back. "..Yeah, I thought so too."

"You did try to kill me. It's an easy assumption to make." 

"I'm.. I'm.." My voice sounds ridiculous, and I swallow. "..I'm pretty sure you tried to.. to kill me too. My stomach fucking _hurts._ "

  
Sebastian's hand quickens just slightly, his skin warm against mine, a whisper of a moan escaping me. 

"I'm sure I can find  _some_  way to make it up to you.." He purrs by my ear, and I can't take it anymore. I pull away from him, ignoring the drag of my stomach as I turn around, and he looks at me with his eyebrow raised, wondering why I've pulled back. 

"I'm tired of you having all the power." I declare, voice a touch shaky and breathless, rather ruining the effect. "We're equals. Principals." Rather boldly, I slide my own fingers into his leggings, feeling him stiffen, watching his lips part in a half smile as I wrap my fingers around him, immediately perturbed at his size. His smile grows, more a smirk.

Well, he _has_ to be better than me at everything, after all.

 

His hand sneaks back into my underwear and he resumes his strokes, and I close my fingers around him, copying his rhythm. He's thick and hot against my palm, and I swallow, imagining if one of the others were to walk past the door, or if Francois were to return for his things. The two principals, hands in each other's pants, stroking one another into a frenzy. It's filthy enough to send a thrill of heat into my stomach. I can't even remember how this happened, how we got here. It only seems ten seconds ago that he was pointing a gun at me.

"..Fuck.." Sebastian murmurs, a low growl as he closes his eyes, and I tighten my grasp, quicken my strokes a little. He does the same, and a sound catches in my throat, my eyes fluttering closed. His lips find mine, rough and hungry, and I kiss him back just as hard, our hands moving fervently on each other.

  
I don't think I've ever been like this. It's dizzying, how much I want him. Want.. more than this, even. I should be trying to kill him.

I part my lips, and his tongue pushes into my mouth, another half whimper escaping me. We're practically bucking into each other's hands, and when Sebastian groans into my mouth, the sound nearly throws me over the edge - though I manage three more strokes before I spill over into his fingers, groaning a quiet ". _.Sebastian,_ " as I rock.

 

"..Fucking.. _Christ._.-" He gasps, quiet and low, and then my hand is wet and warm, his free hand fisting in my hair to pull me into another rough kiss, the both of us moaning and breathless, dizzied as we bask in the high.

 

 

\--

 

We clean up with tissues from my sports bag, and I carry them to the bin in the corner, dressed again and feeling a little sheepish. Of course, what we just did was wrong. Fucking fantastic, but.. I'm supposed to kill him. At the very least, turn him into Malone, who'll ensure that he's killed. Even if I ignore all that, he's still the bastard who had auditions moved up a week. Who stole the principal role from me, even if I somehow managed to snag myself 'Julian'.

 

I walk over to my sports bag, and he comes up behind me, sliding his arms around my waist and then lifting me up, turning me slowly in a lift. I roll my eyes and kick him in the shin, and he laughs and puts me down. Turning, I meet his eyes for a moment and then look away, suddenly shy. Embarrassed.

"It's a little late for regrets now." He murmurs amusedly, running his fingers down my cheek. "..If it counts for anything, that was.. amazing."

My cheeks blush a darker red, and he leans down, kissing me on each with lingering lips. "..You're blushing." He murmurs.

"No. It's warm in here." I protest, and then a moment later, with a halfhearted scowl. "Don't think you're safe. I could still kill you at any moment."

Sebastian grins, and tilts his head at me. "..Is that right?" He asks, and waggles his eyebrows. "Is that with those fantastic knife-wielding skills you possess?"

I hit him. He laughs, and then we're kissing again, urgent but soft, all tongues and fingers twining in each other's hair. He lifts me up, and I wrap my legs around his waist, and then my back is against the wall, his body pressed against mine. He groans quietly into my mouth, and I come to my senses, pushing him off and climbing down, breathless from that kiss. I hurry across the room and pick up my sports bag, deciding that this has gone far enough, today. Fuck, I don't know how that even happened. I don't know what he does to me. 

"..See you tomorrow.." I manage hurriedly, cheeks pink again as I dart from the room, and head down the corridor. I'm almost at the end, my hand on the door handle, when I hear a "Jim.." called from the end of the hall. I turn, able to see his lean silhouette in the doorway, and then I jump as something slams into the wood of the door beside me, inches away from my face.

I look over, aghast, and it's a knife hilt, sticking jaggedly from the wood. I blink at the blade, a little shocked. 

  
"Don't forget your knife.." He sings amusedly, teasingly. 

 

He turns, and saunters back into the room. 

 

\--


	11. Brisé

I stop by the basement room on my way out, feeling strangely separated from the rest of the company. I watch them through the window in the door, turning and leaping, stopping to be choreographed further. Holly is smiling again, and for that I feel relieved. Ali pulls Samantha in to dance with him, and Francois rolls his eyes. I hope she and Antoine can be in the show, after all.

 

I leave at last, heading home. Dinner is a burger from the stall outside the tube station, and I sit with DJ in the living room, though he doesn't say a word to me, doesn't even look up when I sit down, or when I change the channel. After around an hour, he leaves me, walking through to Lewis' room after a while and slamming the door. Music begins to play, and I can hear them talking and laughing over it, feeling a little resentful in the pit of my stomach. 

 

I shouldn't have bragged about not having to train. I'd be jealous, too. I'd probably ignore me too.

 

I take an early night, and fall to sleep relatively easily for once, Sebastian troubling my thoughts in an.. entirely different way.

 

\--

 

My alarm clock wakes me at 6am again, and I sit up, feeling fresh - though my stomach aches to the high heavens. I look down at myself, and sure enough the skin is black and blue. I think it's a little unfair, seeing as my knife didn't even touch Sebastian. At least he had the decency to look guilty. I dress for training, feeling better about going now that I have a choice. And I suppose, if this whole thing goes wrong - or I need more time to sort things out before I leave - I'll need to keep fit. Stay close to Malone, keep myself in his good books.

 

Turning in Sebastian Moran would certainly put me into his good books. Though I'm not sure if I can, now. Not with everything that's happened. I like him. He understands me when he's not being a total arse. In time, maybe.. maybe. I don't know. I shake my head, and file out into the living room, DJ just picking up his car keys. Lewis frowns at me, and they glance at each other.

"..Didn't think you had to come to training anymore." Lewis says, and DJ looks down at his feet, shuffling sheepishly. I narrow my eyes at them, a little suspicious.

"..I never said that." I say, shrugging. I head for the door. "I just said yesterday. Are we going?"

They look at each other again, and Lewis is biting down on the inside of his cheek.

"Yeah we are." He says at last, and shoots a look at DJ, who looked as if he wanted to say something. 

"Good." I say bluntly. Childish arseholes. What, we can't be friends anymore because I'm teacher's pet? Are we in fucking primary school again?

 

I stalk past them both and out, down the stairs to wait by DJ's car, climbing inside and sitting down heavily as soon as he unlocks it. They both sit in the front, and turn the radio on, though even with the music, there's a thick silence that pisses me off. I shouldn't have said anything, I know I shouldn't. But I thought that they might be happy for me. They've always been first on my list for my new empire. My new business. 

 

The three of us started together, seventeen and fresh from secondary schools across the country. Excited to work. We're practically family.

 

We arrive at the warehouse, and I climb out straight away, slamming the car door and pacing away. It's made me angry, and that's probably a good thing, because it'll make me work harder. I start on the treadmill, running hard and fast, my eyes fixed angrily forwards. I can feel other eyes on me, and wonder if it's possible for the news to have spread that fast. 

 

I try and block it out. I think about yesterday instead. Sebastian's tongue pushing into my mouth, his fingers ghosting over my skin, his groans, quiet against my lips. I'll see him again in just a few hours. In spite of myself, I'm smiling.

 

Fuck him. Fuck him and his fucking.. charm. He's got me. Ensnared me just like one of the girls from class.

 

Sweating and panting, I leave the treadmill after half an hour and move onto the circuit training and then weights, though I never seem to increase a weight class. That's fine by me, though I'd love to see Sebastian's face, trying to lift me and being faced with twenty pounds of fresh muscle. That would be hilarious, but it just isn't my body. I've always been stick thin, skinny and lean, my muscles faint, albeit strong.

I finish at the end of the two hours with a session on the punch bag. Maybe it's because I was so awful at blocking Sebastian's hit yesterday, but it's been a while since I practiced anyway. When I'm done, I feel exultant, sweaty and breathless, and the training rooms are empty. I've stayed for an extra ten minutes without realising.

 

Pleased with myself, I head back out to the car. But I'm not expecting what waits for me.

 

\--

 

Everyone. 

All the men that were training today, or at least a good two thirds of them. They stand, crowding around DJ's car, my two flatmates in the middle of the fray, though they look unhappy. Sheepish, even. DJ seems to be trying to talk them off, but several pairs of eyes follow me as I leave the warehouse, uneasy as I pull on my jacket. I see what must have happened immediately, with dread dripping into my stomach.

DJ and Lewis, slagging me off to the others. Talking about my privilege, Malone's favouritism, riling the other recruits up against me - and thinking that I wouldn't be attending training anymore. Wrongly assuming that I'd be safe. Free to express their displeasure. Wrong. I should never have come. Why did they let me come? My mouth is dry, my heart pounding, but I saunter towards them all as if disinterested, and look around the crowd. 

"Is there a problem here?" I ask, raising my voice, and a few murmurs go through them. I can see a few smiling, excited for what looks to be a fight. No.. no, not a fight. This won't be a fight. Not with so many against me. Men turn, rearrange themselves, jostling for space. They're in a rough semi-circle, my back against the warehouse. I have a moment of panic as I imagine them breaking my legs. I won't be able to dance. I won't be able to get my ten grand, to get away. 

 

I can't do this. I can't fight, as much as I'd like to.

"You're the problem." Shouts a gruff voice, and I recognise the man as the one that brought Malone and I coffee on Sunday. No wonder he's pissed. He's supposed to be my equal. In fact, he looks a fair bit older than me. Demeaning, then. "Why should you be so special?"

 

I hold up my hands. "I'm not." I say. "I'm not special. I-"

"Prick." comes another jibe, this time met with a few gruff laughs. I purse my lips, and wait for a moment, voice carefully calm when I speak. As I eye the crowd, I notice that some of them are armed. A couple of pen knives. A metal bar, from the dead-lift weights. Weights themselves, held down at the men's sides. Meant for me. To maim, to bruise. To kill, maybe. My heart is in my throat. But I stay calm. 

"It's not a job that the rest of you can do." I say simply, dicing with death. But what else can I say? It's true. Still, a ripple of outrage runs through the crowd, disbelieving laughs and jeers, a few stepping forwards. Lewis steps out in front of the others, and I straighten,  squaring my shoulders. I glare at him.

"What, then?" He asks. "What is it? If none of us can do it? This big job?"

He's giving me a chance to explain. He's taking the lead. If I'm convincing enough, he can hold them off. DJ eyes me anxiously, guilt lining his face. He fiddles unhappily with his car keys. 

 

All eyes are on me, the coffee man's gaze narrow and judgemental, a half sneer already on his lips. Hands tighten on knives, and knuckles crack. They're readying. I swallow.

 

I can't.

 

Not ballet.

 

Not this lot. I.. The teasing would be merciless. I'd never be respected. If I want to be a leader, I need their respect. 

So I can either keep their respect and die, or live ashamed. Unable to recruit men. Unable to work without being sneered at.

 

I suddenly wish that I was stolen away into The National as a child. Raised into a world where ballet is both beautiful and lethal. 

 

"I can't say." 

The words are hollow, numb and Lewis closes his eyes, resigned. 

 

\--

 

"Oh, he can't say!"  
"Ain't that fuckin' convenient?"  
"He's probably getting paid more an' all."  
"Fuckin'  _wanker._ "  
"Bastard!"

  
The jibes fly out again, accompanied by shouting, others fumbling for more knives, or pushing up sleeves. I'm unarmed. I'm going to fucking die here, and I can't get a word in edgeways. I'm no good at fighting. I might as well just accept it. But I can think. Think, think, think.

The first one lunges at me the moment I make a decision, missing me by inches as I throw myself back inside the warehouse, and begin to run. I can hear them yelling, screaming at DJ and Lewis to move as well, so they must be trying to stop them. It's useless, though. The men pour into the warehouse after me, emboldened by their crowd, the adrenaline of the chase, and they scream and yell, waving their weapons like an angry mob. Impassioned. Wild. Angry. They're caught up in it all, and if they catch me, I won't have a chance.

Think, think, think.

 

It hits me all of a sudden, but it's a long shot. I run fast, leaping over the equipment that the others have to run around, the ballet coming in handy. I slam my way into the back room, locking the door and begin throwing open the lockers, my breathing fast and a roaring in my ears.

We'd been at our last training session of the year, and were going out afterwards into the town. DJ decided to bring a bottle of vodka with him, and take gulps throughout the session. He ended up crouched in the toilet with Lewis and I, none of us even making it out that night. We'd gone home and ordered pizza instead. The vodka was put resignedly into a top locker.

 

And it's still there. 

 

I tug it free, almost tearful in my relief, and yank off the lid with shaking fingers. I empty the vodka onto the floor, through the doorway and splashing it up and  onto the wooden frame. A lighter. I need a lighter.

 

Feet pound through the warehouse, and fists boom, beating at the door, the wood beginning to rattle as heavy boots kick hard at it. My heart is slamming against my ribs as I search through the sports bags, the rucksacks, surely one of these fuckers smokes, please, please, one person has to fucking-

 

Matches. I find matches. In my own sports bag.

 

I'm confused for a moment, and then I turn them over, reading the name of the bar from one of those first ballet sessions. The bar where I dumped my drink into Sebastian's lap for criticising my jetes. His number is scrawled on the back of the box. I feel a pang. I didn't even notice. Didn't realise that he'd slipped them in, nor that he was.. interested in me. 

 

Not before all the.. touching happened, anyway.

 

It blurs through my mind in a couple of seconds, but even that's too long, and a frightened sound catches in my throat, fingers fumbling, trembling on the box. The door gives one last rattle, bursting free of it's lock, which cracks down the middle, just as I toss a lit match onto the floor.

 

The flames begin impossibly fast and engulf the doorway and the trousers of the men that rush through with their weapons, who are screaming, roaring at me, not even noticing the fire behind them as they set upon me. Fists, bars and knives rain down upon me, but I don't feel any blades yet. I can't think, can't see, blinding flailing and trying to hit out at my attackers.  I'm trying to scrabble away, pain slicing through my side, throbbing in my aching stomach and thudding, hard and heavy in my face. I can taste blood and smoke. I'm thrown to the floor and yell, terrified that I'll be swallowed by the flame. Only a few seconds have passed, and the men realise that they're on fire, screaming and running, throwing themselves onto the ground to try and roll away the flames. 

The others are stuck behind the flaming doorway, raging and awed, watching the others struggle. I take the opportunity to scramble up, adrenaline beating through my veins as black smoke fills the room, and I fumble clumsily with the window bolts, before throwing myself out, falling onto the gravel beneath. I'm up, bleeding and gasping, skidding as I try and run, racing back around to DJ's car. He and Lewis must have either joined the group, or be trying to stop them, because neither are there.

"The window!" I hear behind me, a roar of realisation through the smoke, and my hands claw at the car door handle, knowing that they'll be on me again in seconds. The ones behind the door have probably already turned to race back through the warehouse.

 

I had seven driving lessons about five years ago. Adrenaline fuels me. I start the car, and skid from the car park, breathing hard. My bloodied hands slide on the steering wheel, and I glance back into the mirror to see the back building begin to crumble, licked with hot orange fire, thick black smoke rising into the sky.

 

\--

 


	12. Couru

I'm hurt. I realise that fairly quickly, along with how terrible I am at driving a car. My cheekbone throbs, and my mouth keeps filling with blood from a cut lip, and from where I've bitten down on the inside of my own cheek. Blood keeps dribbling into my eye too, so there must be a cut up by my eyebrow somewhere. My chest, my legs, all of me aches, and I'm not sure if it's from my workout, or from the kicks, punches and hits with various instruments that rained down on me, even if just for a few seconds.

 

I can't resist a half smile at the memory of the fuckers, squealing like pigs when they caught sight of their flaming trousers. A stutter of a laugh makes it past my lips, and I wince at the drag of my stomach, bloodied hand slipping from the steering wheel to press to the skin. 

 

My heart still pounds in my chest, adrenaline rushing through my bloodstream. I wonder if anyone will give chase. I try and speed up a little, having been going as slow as possible, uncertain behind the wheel. I realise with a rush of dread that I can't go back to the flat. If they do decide to come after me, that's the first place they'll go. Even if I can call Malone and ask for his protection, ask for him to call them off.

 

His men may be loyal, but they aren't from The National. They'd do something anonymous. Fire bullets through the windows. Maybe a petrol bomb, get their own back on me for the fire. Malone would never know which of them had done it. They'd go unpunished. They'll do it. My eyes feel hot and wet from the sudden panic, aware that I have nowhere to go. That they might be coming after me, that I've gotten myself into even more trouble. 

 

Maybe if I'd just let them beat me up, I might have survived. Gotten away. 

 

No other alternatives, I head towards the centre of the city, for the Grand Hall. I'm an hour and a half early. But I can hide out there. None of Malone's boys will know it. I put on the radio, sway lightly from side to side, even humming out of tune under my breath, to convince myself that I'm ok, that I'm just fine, that blood isn't soaking through to my clothes, that it isn't the slice of a knife that keeps stinging along my shoulder whenever I move. 

 

Not far now.

 

\--

 

I make it to the Hall at ten past one, still fifty minutes early for training. I don't even have my ballet things, still dressed in jogging bottoms and a vest from training, though I'm relieved that both are black. My jacket is beige though, and bloodied, though I can't take it off. I'd have to move my chest and shoulders, and I'm not sure I'm capable right now. It doesn't matter. I imagine my face is caked in blood from the cut lip and eyebrow anyway. 

 

I spent the last twenty minutes of the car ride thinking that I was going to pass out. I still feel dizzy, with a roaring in my ears. Just fifteen more miles, just ten, just five, just around the corner. I pull into the car park, and manage to park - my first time. I giggle, a little delirious with the blood loss, and climb from the front seat, careful to lock the door as I climb out. Safety first.

I try and head towards the Grand Hall, but suddenly I don't know where it is. There's sun and parked cars, and trees lining the road, and I feel sick. The dusty gravel of the car park comes up to meet me suddenly, and then there are stones under my hands, and I'm crawling. The heat beats down on me.

"Oh my God - Jim?!"

I'm halfway across the car park towards the main entrance when I hear it. The voice is female, upset and shouting, and I recognise her blearily after a moment. It's Tash - and she's shouting for someone else, someone that comes running. Alex puts an arm around my other side, and I laugh, waving.

"Hi Tash. Hi Alex!"

"Oh my God, oh my God - what happened to him?"

"Jim? Jim, - oh God, help me get him inside - Jim? Can you tell me what happened?"

I'm being herded along so quickly that it feels like I'm flying, and I try and hold my arms out like a plane. 

"What the hell is he doing?" Alex asks exasperatedly, and Tash shakes her head. I can see them, though it looks more like there's two of them. Two of Tash. Two of Alex. 

"I've always liked you, Alex." I say, and my voice sounds thick, fuzzy to my own ears. Alex laughs a little uncomfortably, patting me on the arm. I realise that I haven't been flying. He's carrying me. Little Alex!

"Thanks, Jim. I like you too. You want to tell Tash what happened?"

"Yeah - Jim, I'm here. What happened, hey? Did you.. get into an accident? Did someone.. did..-"

I hear gasps, the pounding of feet on marble as more people run over to us, and I close my eyes, smiling as I enjoy the cool air of the Grand Hall. Air conditioned. I can't remember what Tash asked me. Maybe it was important.

"Was it important?" I probe blearily, and I see her look at the others, her expression concerned.

"Set him down over here," Comes another voice. Is that Antoine?

"Antoine!" I call happily, and he laughs too, a little strained. Everything is still a blur, patched with dark splotches. The roaring in my ears is getting louder.

"Hiya there, Jim." His voice gets lower, concerned. "Anyone know what happen to him?"

"We found him half crawling across the car park. No idea how long he'd been there.."

"Christ.."

"There was a trail of blood from a car. Some on the seat. Alex thought maybe an accident, but there-"

"Alex!" I say, trying to sit up, though hands push me back down gently. I think I'm on some sort of bench. Concerned faces lean over me. "Is Alex still here?"

"We're all still here, Jim." Alex answers, and Tash continues quietly.

"But there weren't any big marks on the car.."

"What the hell is going on?" The voice is loud, authoritative, and the concerned faces all snap away for a moment, looking up and away at something else. Someone else. 

 

I know that voice. I know, I know that voice. It's him, isn't it? It's.. it's.. I can't remember his name. Everything's so dark. Oh God, I'm going to throw up. They all talk at once.

"We just found him-"  
"- nobody knows-"  
"-Could have been a mugging, or some kind of car crash but there were no marks on the c-"

"Jim?"

He bends down beside the bench, and warm hands cup my cheeks, green eyes flitting between mine. "Jim, can you hear me?" He says, voice low and calm, and soft. I smile at him, a silly smile, laughing to myself at nothing in particular.

He smiles, but it's strained, concerned. Why is everyone so fucking concerned? I'm fine. I feel fantastic.

"It's you." I say, and he nods after a moment, eyes leaving mine as he looks me over, plucking at my clothes as he tries to assess my injuries. 

"It's me." He agrees distractedly, but I bat away his hands.

"Stop.. trying to take my clothes off.." I mumble, closing my eyes again, and a few awkward, anxious titters run through the group watching us. Why are they all here? I thought I was early. "I was early." I protest, and he runs a hand over my forehead, sweeping back my hair.

"..What time do you think it is, Jim?"

"..Mm.." I think for a moment. When I pulled up in the car it was.. ten to.. ten past.. half.. past?  "One." I say confidently, and they all share glances. "You're  _Sebastian!"_  I remember at last, exultant. "You're my Sebastian!"

A slow smile spreads across his lips, and I smile back in a daft grin.

 

And then promptly, I pass out.

 

\--

 

When I come around, it's light. The bright sunlight settles on my eyelids, and I screw my eyes shut for a second before blinking them open, finding that I'm lying on my back on a stack of stretch mats. The afternoon sunshine streams through the open window, the breeze pleasant. The room is empty, and the light is beautiful across the oak, reflecting in the mirrors.

 

I take all this in within a half second. And then the pain hits.

 

A low gasp of a groan escapes my lips as it slams into me all at once, aches and throbs and stinging and heavy, dull pains. My face is no longer crusted with blood, and the cuts are closed, so I must have been out for a little while. Of course, when I grimace, the one on my lip splits open again, and I taste copper. At the sounds I make, someone steps into view. He bends down beside me again, green eyes still concerned, ash blonde hair still falling over his forehead. He holds out a plastic cup of water, and then slides an arm beneath me, helping me to sit up. 

 

I take it gratefully with a wince, and take a few long sips, my throat as dry as bone. 

"..Where is everyone?" I manage to rasp. The last time I was conscious, I remember being surrounded by people.

"..Rehearsing." Sebastian says calmly, and takes the cup carefully, setting it down on the floor. He looks me over again, a smile quirking onto his lips. "As 'your' Sebastian, I thought it was my duty to make sure you got cleaned up. And Francois has given us the rehearsal off."

I wince at that, sheepish. "..I said that?"

"You did. Right before you passed out."

He sits down on the mat next to me, and I take the opportunity to lean against him, the relief near instant. I close my eyes again, not caring that he'll interpret it as a come on. I'm so tired.

"Hey." His hand pats lightly at my cheek. "Come on. No more sleeping. You might have a concussion."

I groan. "I'm fine," I protest, and bat at him. He pulls me back gently towards the wall, leaning the mats against it so that I'm propped sitting up. He sits right beside me. 

"We both know you aren't fine." He says, rolling his eyes. "But there's no lasting damage." He's looking over at me, and I grimace, glancing down at my bloodied clothes, though it makes my head throb.

"..Did you clean me up?" I ask him dubiously, and he nods.

"You've got a cut lip and eyebrow. Knife wound to your shoulder, but it's a graze. Some pretty painful looking bruising.."

 

I sigh, and close my eyes, resting my head against the wall. When Sebastian speaks again, it's with a slight edge to his words. It takes me a moment to realise that the edge is anger.

"..Are you going to tell me who did this to you?"

I frown. I roll my head on my shoulders to look at him, opening one eye. "..What do the others think?"

"That you got mugged."

"Then I got mugged."

"You're funny." Sebastian notes, and shifts forwards a little, turning to sit and face me. He looks into each of my eyes, words mocking. "Did he knock any sense into you? I wasn't born yesterday, you know."

I just shrug, my words resigned. DJ and Lewis. I still can't believe it. It makes me feel a little hollow, even if they tried to stop it in the end.

"What does it matter?"

His eyes harden just a touch. "..I'd like to teach them a lesson. This wasn't just one person. You were set upon, Jim."

I scoff, snorting - though the effort sends me into a mild coughing fit, and I have to clutch my stomach, gasping as Sebastian holds my shoulder. Afterwards, I'm breathless, and close my eyes again as they begin to water.

"You - you can't just come in now, playing this.. 'holier than thou'.." I manage, and he raises his eyebrows. 

"What?"

"They haven't done me any more damage than  _you_ have, Sebastian Moran." I point groggily to my bruised stomach. "So don't.. go.. acting all.." I wave a hand. "Our industry is just.. like this. You know it is."

He purses his lips into a frown, and shakes his head infinitesimally.

"..That was.. different. I didn't.. You.." He sighs exasperatedly. "You tried to kill me."

"Eye for an eye." I sing. He fixes me with a stern look.

"Was it Malone's boys? Did they find out about me? That you didn't turn me in?"

I blink at him for a moment, confused, and then shake my head vehemently, though I groan, the throbbing instantaneous. "..Fuck.. Do you have any paracetamol?"

"..No. Not here. Sorry. I patched you up with the first aid kit, but no drugs."

 

I give a huff of an unhappy sigh and close my eyes again, tipping my head back against the wall. Sebastian's hand curls around my fingers, large and warm. 

"..Yes." I answer quietly after a moment, not moving. "..Well. Sort of." He doesn't answer, and I go on. "The boys found out that I got special treatment. Some special.. fucking mission. They were pissed off."

"..And?" He prompts, after a few moments of silence. His voice is gentle.

"And so they were waiting for me after training."

"..And?"  

I flash him a scowl at the second question.

_"..And,_  I wouldn't tell them what it was.  So they tried to beat me up."

Sebastian runs his fingers lightly over my cheek, then down, over what I realise now is bandaging over my shoulder.  
"..Tried? I.. think they succeeded, Jim."

 

 He still sounds angry. Vengeful. I don't know why. It's nothing to do with him, not really. I'd be doing this ballet stuff even if it wasn't for the price on his head.

"Not as bad as it would have been."

He sighs, and stands, beginning to pace slowly, his hands at his face. I watch him for a moment, and my mouth turns tight down into a quivering frown, suddenly a little tearful as I remember.

"..I can't go home. They'll get me."  The words are pathetic, but simple. Honest. I turn my face away, my cheeks red with humiliation. Sebastian blinks at me for a moment, before he bends down again, and tilts my head up to look at him with his fingers on my chin.

"..That's alright." He says, just as calmly as before, with a touch more affection this time. He leans in, letting his lips brush mine. It makes me feel better. Just a fraction, but it's there. And something warm settles in my chest at his next words. "..You're going to come and stay with me."

  
"..What about practice?"

"I told you. Francois' given us the rehearsal off. You can't do anything like this, anyway. Come on."

He slides an arm around me, helps me get up. My legs are fine, I realise with a breathless laugh, quiet and weak. I'm fine. I can still dance. I lean on him, and we begin to walk, though I frown, stopping. 

"..Wait. Where're we going?"

"My place. God, you really are concussed, aren't you?"

Misery seeps into my chest at my next realisation, my words an unhappy mumble. "..I don't have any of my things."

"I know." He says simply, leading me to the door. I have his jacket on. It must be his, anyway. It's certainly not mine, is expensive leather, and smells like him. His words are calm, but there's an undercurrent of something. Of anger.  "..We're going to fetch them."

I stop walking, shaking my head and ignoring the throbbing pains. "No - we can't, they all know where I-"

"That's why I'm going with you."

\--

 


	13. Bravura

We get closer to the mirrored walls as we inch towards the door, and I gasp, taking myself in. My shoulder is bandaged, and my skin thankfully free of blood, though bruises already flower on my arms, and I know that they'll be there beneath the shirt. The cut by my eyebrow is jagged but shallow, the one on my lip small. Another bruise is purpling on my cheekbone, and I frown at myself, unhappy.

 

I don't exactly look like a man who's earned respect.

 

"Oh it's not that bad." Sebastian says, and gives me a half squeeze. He lets go of me hesitantly, and I find that I can walk well by myself. I ache, but I'm not broken. Though I didn't mind that arm around my waist. "You're still pretty." He teases, and I hit him.

We walk down the long hall, where only yesterday I tried to kill him. I feel a lot better, but I don't rush things and we head out into the car park. DJ's car is still there. 

"..Can you drive?" I ask him, and dig around for the car keys in my pockets. He draws them out from his own, holding them between two fingers.

"Yes." He says, but purses his lips, concerned. "..Don't you feel up to it?"

"..No." I admit sheepishly, as we head across the car park. "..I can't drive."

Sebastian stops, actually stops in the middle of the damn car park, and looks at me like I'm insane. He blinks at me, the beginning of a disbelieving smile on his lips, though he's anything but amused.

"..You drove here, when you  _can't drive_? And in this state?!"

I sigh impatiently, making my way over to the car. There's blood on the seat, dried and crusted crimson from the heat of the sun through the windows. 

"There was a chase." I tell him, waving a hand. "And a fire. And I was hurt."

"But you-"

"If I hadn't done it, I'd be dead." I snap, and turn to glare at him, trying to fold my arms across my chest. I manage it, with a bit of pain and a wince. Instead of getting angrier, Sebastian's expression seems to soften a little, and he looks at me with a kind of pity.

"..It was that bad?"

I swallow and look away. I shrug. 

"..Right." Sebastian says, and the word is hard, definitive. He's angry again. His eyes have taken on that same terrifying determination that he had yesterday, when he was holding that gun up to my chest. He's ready to kill. 

..For.. me?

I get a shiver of something warm at that, and he walks around to the passenger seat, helping me inside. He winds the window right down, the heat outside stifling. I'm lucky Tash and Alex found me when they did, I suppose. I'm not sure how long I was palming along the gravel. I need to thank them.

Sebastian closes my door, and then paces around the car and climbs into the driver side, seemingly not caring that he's sitting in my dried blood. He starts the engine.

"You live alone?" He asks me, his voice still terse as he glances across. I shake my head, and wince, looking out of the window quickly.

"..What?" He asks immediately, and I sigh, pursing my lips. I think about not saying anything for a moment.

"My flatmates. DJ and Lewis. I don't think they meant this to happen, but.. it's basically their fault. Faults."

He begins to drive, leaving the car park, and I point him in the right direction. He glances over at me to continue, his expression still set with simmering anger. 

I continue, quietly. "They didn't think I had to go to training anymore. They must have been bad-mouthing me to everyone, playing up this 'mission'." I shake my head, still fairly fucking pissed off about it. "Enough for everything to explode when I turned up, anyway."

"..Right." Sebastian says again, fingers tightening on the steering wheel as he drives. His word is hard enough to make me worry, just for a moment, about my flatmates and their wellbeing.

"..They did try and stop it." I add, watching him. He just nods. I sigh. "I don't want them hurt, Sebastian. Idiotic as they are, they're my family."

He looks at me for a moment, long and hard. His words are soft, rage still running through them, a hidden undercurrent.

".. I know family. Especially like this." He shakes his head, and looks forward. "..And these boys aren't your family."

\--

 

We pull up around the corner from the flat, and I look over at Sebastian, frowning a little.

"..You don't have to come with me." I say. "I mean, I know you mean well but.. you don't owe me anything. What happened the other day was.. just.." I shrug, looking away with pink cheeks. 

 

He drops his hands from the steering wheel and leans back where he sits, arching an eyebrow. That smirk plays on his lips.

"..What happened yesterday," He murmurs, his voice dropping lower, and sending shivers down my spine. "..Was just the beginning." He winks at me. ". _.Juliet_."

He makes to get out of the car, and I say hurriedly; "..I found your matchbox."

He stills. Sits back with a smile that's a touch sheepish. That smugness disappears for a moment. I raise my eyebrows at him, smiling myself, though it fades when I say what I do next.

"..It actually saved my life."

Sebastian raises his eyebrows, a little alarmed. He listens as I tell him about the vodka and the fire, about the men bursting through the door only seconds later. That rage flits across his expression again, but he nods, giving a strained little laugh.

"..Glad I could.. help."

"You like me." I summarise bluntly, folding my arms across my chest, though my bruises throb. A grin starts on my lips, teasing. "You gave me your phone number. I didn't even notice."

He rolls his eyes, giving me a wry smile, though I notice that his cheeks are a touch pinker.

"Hardly means anything now, after what we've already done." He comments, and then with a sly wink. "..You were very good at it, _by_ the way."

With that, he climbs out of the car rather smugly, leaving me with a hot face and slight cringe. I feel warm inside, though. He didn't deny it. He basically admitted it. He likes me. Ballet killer boy likes me. 

I suddenly remember why we're here. He's pacing towards my flat. I scramble out of the car after him, swearing underneath my breath.

 

\--

 

I don't realise that there are cars dotted along the street until I hear the voices coming from the flat, low and muffled. A few of them. Two or three, none of them DJ or Lewis.

I put a hand out to stop Sebastian, and he gives me a pointed look, taking said hand and twining his fingers with it. I let him pull me up the rest of the stairs, and then I drop it. The last thing I need is for them to assume I'm gay. That'll lose me a lot of respect as well. If I even have any left to lose.

"They're in there." I whisper, and hang back, shaking my head. "Fuck that. They might have guns."

"They won't have guns." Sebastian says, quietly confident. His words are reassuring. "They want to beat you, not kill you. Teach you a lesson."

"Oh fantastic." I whisper sarcastically, jabbing a thumb at the door. "I'll just stroll inside then, shall I?"

He shrugs, reaches over to push back my hair. "They're waiting for you. And I'm pretty damn keen to meet them too."

I duck away from his touch, my mouth dry, the gesture so intimate that it makes something flutter in my chest. He smirks again, and I roll my eyes. I take a breath and look at the door.

 

He's right. They're here for me. I should give them what they fucking want.

Idiots.

 

"If they have guns and they shoot me, it's on you." I tell him, and he pulls his own gun from the back of his trouser waistband - luckily, not wearing his lycra just yet. He clicks off the safety and cocks the chamber open with the gun at his side, checking his bullets. It's a pointed move.

"They won't." He assures me. I purse my lips. I suppose I trust him. I don't know why. None of them will know who he is,  I'm hoping. Well, if they do, I'm screwed. But isn't that the nature of this 'secret mission' that I'm getting all this fucking flak for?

 

I unlock the door, and the voices all cut off immediately. I step inside.

 

\--

  
Beer cans sit, open on the table. A bowl of crisps is half eaten beside them, and all the men are on their feet. Three, and then DJ and Lewis, who stand together, looking sheepish. DJ has a black eye. One of the men - I recognise him as coffee boy - has trousers frayed at the edges. Burnt.

 

I swallow.

 

"That was some fuckin' stunt you pulled." He says, raging but pushing his words into a drawl, walking towards me. His fists are clenched so tightly, his knuckles are white.

"..Ace.." Lewis says, quietly, as if trying to dissuade him. Ace smiles, a venomous, bitter smile.

"You're an idiot for fuckin' coming back here, Jim." He tells me, eyes roaming over me, pleased with the injuries that he sees. "You think that's bad? Wait until we're fuckin' through with you."

"Not really necessary, is it?" DJ interjects, taking a step towards us. Ace is getting closer by the second, slow steps that I have to force myself not to counter by stepping backwards. Sebastian waits in the hallway.

"Necessary?" Pipes up one of the others, a smaller, dark man with biceps so large they look almost comical, straining against his shirt. He carries one of the metal bars. They probably came straight here after training. They've been waiting for me. "You almost killed us. Shoulda jus' taken your lesson when we was gonna give it to you."

I wince at his accent, his terrible grammar. Ace grins maliciously, thinking that I'm wincing out of fear.

"I'm just here to pick up a few things." I say flatly. My eyes find DJ and Lewis. DJ looks down at his feet. Lewis frowns. "And then I'll be on your way."

The third man pushes past Ace, his expression dark and seething. He's bigger than the others, big all over, maybe even bigger than Sebastian, though Sebastian is taller and leaner. This guy is bulky. There are burns along his legs, his trousers torn away.

"Jesus Christ-" I gasp, grimacing at him. "You need to go to a fucking hosp-"

His hand fists in the front of my vest, and he pulls me to him, his words spat in my face, syllable by syllable.

_"Look what you did to me."_

"Let him go. Right. Now."

Sebastian's voice comes, low and quiet, dangerously calm from the doorway where he leans. Heads snap up to look at him in surprise, no one having seen him step in. He doesn't have the gun anymore. He's just leaning, arms folded over his chest. Almost casual, like.

"..Who the fuck are you?" Lewis asks, uncomfortable. The hand only tightens in the front of my vest, and Bulky scowls down at me. It's written in his eyes what he'd like to do to me.

"A friend. A foe. I'll let you decide." Sebastian drawls just as calmly. He pushes himself off the wall and steps closer, his movements impossibly still, curt. His gaze flicks to my flatmates. "..And you two must be DJ and Lewis."

They look at each other. Sebastian smiles. "I'll deal with you in a moment." He says, and then turns to Bulky. 

"If you don't let him go in the next three seconds, I'm going to kill you." The words are slow, amused, a simple threat, but his eyes are hard and earnest. I watch him, feeling a touch embarrassed about having him fight my fucking battles. Though, it's hot. Damned hot. I can say that much.

Bulky laughs.

"One." Sebastian says, not moving an inch. 

 

The smaller boy swings at him hard with the metal bar and a battle cry, and Sebastian catches it in the flat of his palm, that hand flying up ridiculously fast.  His fingers curl around it and he pulls it free, swiftly sending it slamming into the other's stomach. The smaller man doubles over, staggers, and Sebastian hits again, this time the bar flung upwards into his face, blood and teeth spurting into the air. He falls. He doesn't get up. it all happens in the fraction of a second. I'm blinking in shock.

"Two." His voice is just as calm as before. Bulky looks down at his friend, open mouthed, but swallows, standing his ground. I start to pull away, but he jolts me still, sending a throb through my head. I scowl at him. 

Ace takes the opportunity to leap at Sebastian, attempting to throw his arms around his shoulders, but again Sebastian turns. He gives a half duck, slamming his shoulder into Ace's stomach in mid air, sending him down on his back onto the hard floor, where he has him, arms pulled up behind his back in a hard hold. He takes a second to consider, and then pulls on them roughly. I hear something crack, and Ace howls, screaming. Broken arms. Again, it's happened in a blur. My heart is pounding. I'm frozen in awe.

 

Sebastian straightens, rolling his neck with a few clicks as he steps closer to Bulky, leaning close to hiss a near silent "..Three," in his ear.

Bulky's hand is looser in my shirt. He watches Sebastian, anxiety creeping into his expression, and I smile sweetly, taking my own chance. I launch my foot into a deadly kick, catching him hard - albeit very gracefully - in the balls. He's crippled immediately, doubled over with a wheeze, falling onto the floor, and shrieking again when the floorboards rub at his burns. 

Sebastian grins at me over him, and then pulls a face, nodding. Impressed. He takes Bulky's head between his hands, stands behind him, and twists hard. The shrieking stops with the crack of his neck. Well.. I.. 

 

He did warn him.

 

Sebastian leans over, kisses me on the mouth. Slow. Possessive. DJ and Lewis watch, wide-eyed.

"Go and get your things."

 

\--

 


	14. Adagio

Sebastian's word is authoritative, his eyes fixed on DJ and Lewis, and I know that i should go, though I'm a touch annoyed that he just kissed me in front of them and is now giving me orders. But then, I suppose, I owe him. He did just kill two men for me, and break another's arms. Ace has passed out, Lewis trying to drag him onto the sofa, though he screams, jolting awake from the pain.  
  
"Jim." Sebastian says, a little more gently this time. He runs his fingers down my cheek. I realise with a jolt that he's not trying to embarrass me. His eyes are earnest, soft. "..Are you going to pack? ..Did he hurt you?"  
  
On the floor, the smaller man who brought the pole twitches, and Sebastian gives him another kick to the side. I pull away from Sebastian's touches again, conscious of my gawping flatmates, and shake my head. "I'm fine."  
  


He nods, and he holds my gaze for a moment, suddenly looking a touch anxious. As if he's wondering if he's done the right thing. I sigh. He's fucking melting me. Idiot. I straighten to kiss him, and DJ swears under his breath in the shock. Why should I care what they think, anyway? Sebastian saved me. They almost got me killed. I know where my loyalties lie.

I pull back with a shy smile and then head into the bedroom to pack. Sebastian watches me go, and at the last minute I see him turn to my flatmates, that smile falling from his face into hard anger. 

 

\--

 

I pack quickly, stuffing what I can in a dozen bags. Pants, socks, trousers, shirts. My leggings, my work out tops. A couple of the nice suits that Malone demanded we buy at the start of our employment. I always feel powerful when I wear them. Shoes, trainers, flip flops. A spare jacket, seeing as mine's coated with blood. 

 

My books. My knife. My ballet flats. 

My laptop. Pajamas, though I realise with a sudden thrill - of both fear and.. something else - that I may not be wearing any. I wonder if I have some sort of.. obligation, sleeping at Sebastian's place. I mean hell, he's been with every girl in fucking dance class. He's hardly going to be a virgin. And then, after what he said in the car.

 

That the other day was just the beginning.

 

I hurriedly fumble in my chest of drawers, bashfully taking out the condoms and lubricant that have never been used, and hide them in a sock. I stuff them down inside my bag, and then consider getting changed into less bloody clothes, though decide against it until I've been able to shower. The thought reminds me, and I pack up my toiletries bag. Toothbrush. Razor. Shower gel. Shampoo. Moisturiser. 

My bag zipped, I head back out.

 

\--

 

DJ and Lewis stand to attention, eyes flicking to me as I leave my bedroom, Sebastian lounging leisurely on the arm chair, and turning a knife between his fingers, cutting off slices of a pear. I blink at him, opening his mouth to ask what he's doing, before both of my flatmates speak at once.

"Sorry Jim-"  
"-Jim I'm really really sorry.."

They both sound a little panicked, tense, and after the apologies, their gazes swivel to Sebastian. He nods slowly, disinterestedly, slipping a slice of pair into his mouth, and I frown at DJ and Lewis, backs straight, arms by their sides. A slow shadow of a grin flits across my lips. I fold my arms across my chest.

"..Is that right?" I say, tilting my head to one side. They look anxiously to Sebastian again, and he pauses with the knife halfway through that pear, and raises an eyebrow at them. They hurriedly turn back to me.

"-Definitely."  
"I'm really sorry-"  
"-We didn't know that you'd be-"  
"-Not that it's an excuse, but we-"  
"We're just really sorry."

If I look closely, DJ's upper lip is damp, and Lewis' fingers are twitching. I don't know what he's threatened them with, but it must be something bad. Or maybe they're spooked after seeing what he did to these other idiots. I laugh quietly, and shake my head. I take a step closer, and DJ attempts to take one backwards, before thinking better of it. 

Frowning, I reach out towards him, and he cringes away. Sebastian clears his throat, and he practically leaps towards me. 

"..Jesus." I mutter, and Lewis gives me a grim smile, sheepish. "You okay?" I ask, and they both nod quickly, DJ adding a "Fine, absolutely fine."

"..I'll see you soon.." I say carefully, and then still watching them warily, I lift my bag higher on my shoulder and then head towards the door, Sebastian sliding a last piece of pear into his mouth and then slamming down the knife into the wooden arm of the chair. Both of the boys jump, and DJ even shelters his head with his arms. I look, aghast at Sebastian, and he shrugs. But that glimmer is in his eyes again. I suppose, if I'm honest, they deserved a bit of a scare.

 

We head silently down the stairs, and I pull Sebastian towards the tube station, not keen on simply claiming DJ's car as my own. He rolls his eyes, but saunters along beside me. After a moment of thought, I drop down my arm and take his hand. He grins.

 

\--

  
"You know, I don't actually need you to protect me." I bristle as we get off the tube, the busy compartments having been too crammed to discuss what had just happened. It was enough that Sebastian stood close, making sure that no one could jostle me and my thousand injuries, one arm around my middle. Pulling me back against him. It felt safe. I wasn't complaining. We walk along the main road now, side by side, me following him to wherever he lives. He carries my bulky bag and his own sports bag. Guiltily, I let him.

"Of course you don't." He answers simply, looking ahead with a shrug, but there's something smug in his eyes and I scowl.

"I mean it." I say. "You could have gotten yourself in trouble back there. If Malone reveals the mission, and they all think, 'hang on, where have I seen a six foot, lean, mean fighting machine who was light on foot and somehow connected to Jim'?"

  
"Lean mean fighting machine?" He repeats with amusement, and I sigh exasperatedly. We turn down an avenue.

"That's not the point. What I mean is-"

"I know what you meant. And I'm fine. I can take care of myself. And you too, if needs be.

"Yeah well, needs.. don't.. be."

He looks over at me, grinning. "What?" I shake my head, scowling again.

"Oh, fucking.. never mind."

We reach a block of flats, slightly dingy looking from the outside, though I can see through the ground floor window, and it looks nicely laid out. I pause for a second to snoop, and he laughs quietly at me. "..You know, I have the keys.."

"..This one's yours? And you don't close the curtains?"

"I walk around naked, too. Is that going to be a problem?"

I swallow, and follow him inside. He's laughing again. 

 

\--

 

"Be nice if you didn't out me to my friends too." I quip scathingly a few minutes later, walking around Sebastian's flat. It's nice. Really spacious, which is surprising, but next to no furniture. And it's a 'studio' - which means that a large double bed sits in one corner, a kitchenette in the other, and a door leading to a small bathroom by his front door. And the rest of it is just a living room. I like it, though. Space to dance, and I know instantly that that'll be why he took it.

" _Out_ you?" He repeats, incredulously amused. "I'm sorry, are you ashamed of me? Or of yourself?"

He asks like it's a question, like it has to be one of the two. "Neither, actually." I quip back. "I'd just rather have done it on my own terms."

"Somehow I doubt they'll tell anyone, if that's what you're worried about."

He returns from the kitchenette with two mugs of tea, which he sets down steaming on the coffee table. I agree. I don't think DJ and Lewis will speak a word. I want to know what he threatened them with. I jab a thumb at the bathroom. "Can I have a shower?"

"There should be a towel in there." He agrees. For a moment, he's watching me, and I'm worried he'll ask to join me. But it's like he can read my mind - he just smiles at my pink cheeks, and then sits down heavily on the sofa, his arms spreading along the back. He watches me as I go. I stick up my middle finger, and then shut the door on him laughing.

 

\--

The shower is gloriously warm and powerful, though it stings my cuts as the water cleans them, and I have to take off the bandaging on my shoulder. When I climb out, wrapping myself in a towel, I look in the mirror and purse my lips unhappily at the sight of myself. Bruised cheekbone, cut lip, cut forehead, slash on my shoulder, bruises everywhere else. Surprise, surprise, the worst one is on my stomach. 

When I pad shyly back through, the towel at my hips, Sebastian's eyes are drawn to it, and that smugness disappears for a few moments. He looks away uncomfortably, and then picks up a mug, holding it out. "..Tea?"

"Is that guilt I see before me?" I drawl, taking it and taking a sip. I close my eyes with a sound of relief. It's still hot. Two sugars. Milky heaven. Sebastian snorts, leaning back against the sofa, though I still see the unease in the set of his jaw. I sigh.

"I can put some clothes on."

He shrugs. "It's fine." He meets my gaze. "You did try to kill me."

"So you keep telling me. The knife never touched you though."

"Yeah, and it's a good thing, or I'd be dead." 

I sit down next to him, tucking my towel in tight, and sit with the tea in both hands, enjoying the warmth. The heating must be on, because I don't feel chilly like this. Sebastian's arms slide around my waist comfortably, and I lean against his side. I wonder if it's weird that we haven't spoken about 'this' yet. Whatever 'this' is. 

"..Sebastian.." I begin, less antagonistically than I usually say his name. He rests his mouth against my damp hair in response, fingers warm around my middle, and I take the gesture as an invitation to continue. "..Why exactly did you write your number on that matchbox?"

He doesn't answer, and I sigh after a moment, looking up at him with an eyebrow raised. "..You wanted to fuck me."

He holds my gaze for a moment, and then gives a wry smile, a touch sheepish. Green eyes drop down to watch his fingers, drawing slow patterns on my skin. 

"..Yeah. I did." He waits for a beat, and I nod. He continues, voice a little softer. It catches me off guard. "..But I don't.. think that's all I want, now."

I blink, but I don't look back at him. "..Oh?" I say, almost a breath.

"..I'd like to dance with you all the time. Only you."

Is that some kind of a metaphor? I don't say anything, but my fingers settle over his. He continues.

"I've killed my fair share of men. But I wanted to tear apart whoever did that to you, today. You make me feel that way. It's fucking.. weird."

"Why is it weird?" I ask exasperatedly, breaking the sweet silence for a moment. He laughs at me quietly, his chest shaking behind me. 

"I don't know. Because you're male. Because you're my co-principal. Because I fucking despised you the first few times I saw you."

"Aw," I say, my voice a withering tease. "I despised you too. How sweet."

"You were good." He explains reluctantly. I snort.

"You were better. You're.. like no dancer I've ever seen."

"You haven't been to one of The National's shows?"

"You sell out in ten minutes."

"True."  He sighs. "You had promise. And now.. you're matching me, I'd say. And that's from a week of practice. Give it a few months, you'll be miles better than me. Hell, Bogdanov'll come and fucking steal you away in the middle of the night."

 

I smile, but it fades fast, wondering if that's what happened to Sebastian. He seems to sense the pattern of my thoughts. 

"I don't remember." He reminds me quietly. "I was three."

He fumbles in his pocket for a moment and draws out his phone, before pulling me closer against him and holding out the screen so that we both can see it. He goes into his gallery, and finds a big picture. It's a mishmash of attractive young faces of all colours, men and women, with an older, grey-haired man in the centre. Sebastian goes through all the faces from left to right, and I notice his own immediately, two women clinging onto him. He looks younger somehow, carefree, with the blonde woman ducking under his arm to escape the hand trying to ruffle her hair. He's laughing.

"Katia, me, Lucy, Gustav, Pierre, Carmen, Bogdanov in the middle, Suki, Donal, Yi Phang, Annaliese and Ryan."

He ghosts his thumb across the screen. "..They were in my bunkhouse. He has a few, maybe four, for the entire company. They were my family."

 

"..I'm sorry." 

  
I don't know what else to say. He shrugs, and puts the phone away. It's dark in the room now, and the glare of the phone screen hangs bright in my vision for a few moments before I can blink it away.

"Don't be. I chose to leave. It was messed up."

He falls silent, and I turn in his arms, looking at his morose expression. He stares absently at the arm of the sofa, lost in another world. In a memory. Slowly, I lean closer and press my lips to his, almost able to taste his surprise, a split second before he kisses back. His hand slides into my hair, cupping the back of my head, and we're kissing properly, but somehow it isn't about sex. Or at least, isn't just about sex. He misses them. His family, his friends. 

 

I wonder if his need to protect me isn't somehow fueled by the fact that he's left them.

 

\--

 

We finally come up for air a few minutes later, the both of us breathless. Sebastian's hands roam over my skin, his pupils dilated, and I kiss him again, sucking his bottom lip into my mouth. He makes a pleased sound, and then pulls me into his lap, warm, rough hands ghosting down beneath the towel to squeeze my arse, though sudden panic grips me and I pull away from the kiss.

I look at him for a moment, eyes a touch frantic, opening and closing my mouth in an attempt to explain. He tilts his head at me, just a fraction.

"..You haven't done this before." He says, soft and low. I feel a little defensive at that, and just shrug, looking away. A ghost of that grin appears on his lips, and the next thing I know, I'm in his arms, being carried fucking bridal style to the bed in the corner. I point my toes. He notices, and laughs. The sound puts me a little more at ease, though as he sets me down, he holds up his hands. "If you don't want to.."

"No." I shake my head. I'd already decided. It put a thrill through me, earlier in the day. I want this. I'm just.. fucking nervous. It's stupid. "..I do." I point a finger at him. "And you better make it good."

He raises his eyebrows at me. Crawls closer from where he's sitting on the bed. His eyes find my mouth, and his hands take mine, guiding them to his t shirt. I peel it from him, and then his lips press hard to mine, and I make a sound that doesn't sound like me at all.

 

\--

  
He does. He does make it good.

 

His fingers are inside me, and it's the strangest sensation, though not as overwhelming as a few minutes ago, when he had his mouth on me. I thought I might come there and then, his movements slow and warm on my cock, tongue circling me as he sucked hard. The noises I made weren't human, but they didn't seem to bother him. In fact, it seemed to make him work harder. He doesn't give me a chance to return the favour, pulling off only seconds before it would have been too late, and then sliding a hand down to part my thighs.

The lubricant is his own, and it's cold, though I can't focus on much else than his fingers inside me, gentle yet persistent, and pressing against a spot that makes me moan against the skin of his neck. He shudders at the sound, and presses a touch harder. I've never felt anything like it, and I'm rocking down against his hand, kissing him with a kind of fervent laziness, breaking off every few moments to force myself to breathe. 

At long last, he pulls back his hand, though I groan again and push down against him, missing that contact. My heart leaps into my throat as I watch his hand move on himself, slow and slick, and I swallow, still breathing hard. He holds himself above me with one hand braced on the bed, his other moving to wrap around one of my thighs, to lift me a little higher and hold me still as he presses inside, green eyes flicking to mine and holding my gaze there, both glassy. He takes things slowly, tightening his hold on me when I try and push down too quickly, and giving me a chiding look. He leans down and kisses me again, and I part my lips for his tongue, moaning into his mouth as he presses further inside, until at last he's flush against me, his own chest rising and falling with the same heaviness as mine.

"..Fuck.." I whisper, though I might as well just be mouthing it, the sound not escaping my lips. My eyes flutter closed, and I try and get used to the sensation. Sebastian warm against me, inside me, our mouths moving together, slow and wet.  At last, at long last, he begins to move, and a gasp of a moan is torn from my throat, the slow rocking making me dizzy and my face hot. It feels amazing. Indescribable. Green eyes hold mine again, and we're rocking together with a slow creak of the bed joining my half moans, already feeling like I'm nearing my peak. 

"..Sebastian.." I whisper with a touch of desperacy, and he shivers again at the sound, increasing his pace just a little, but enough to make me arch my back against him, to fist a hand in the sheets and bite down on my lips. "..Jim," He growls back, and then kisses me hard, his rocking catching that place inside me that seems to make me want to explode. Unable to hold back the sound, I moan again, almost animalistic, and he does it again, purposely rutting himself to catch it. My fingers scratch at his back, the both of us slick as we move together, sweaty and entangled in his bedsheets, everything all at once becoming harder, faster, rougher and  _fantastic._ No longer self conscious, I cry out with every slam of his hips against me, rising up to meet him and clinging onto him for purchase, his hand gripping the headboard.

It builds up slowly and hits me unexpectedly when I feel his hand wrap around me, coming hard after two strokes, and painting white ribbons over his chest, over myself. Sebastian slams a hand into the headboard with a guttural cry of his own, rocking up against me and then staying there, a choked sound slipping from his lips as he throbs inside me, though I'm still dizzy, blissed out, basking in my own release. 

 

It takes a few moments, but when he finally opens his eyes, they're a little bleary, and he leans down to kiss me, slow and passionate. His tongue brushes mine, and I slide my hands into his hair, a sound escaping me when he slips out and falls down onto the sheets next to me. He pulls me against him, wrapping me in the sheets and resuming that slow kiss, his heart pounding against mine as I lay against his chest.

"..Not bad?" He murmurs breathlessly against my mouth a few long minutes later, his fingers carding slowly through my hair.

"..Not bad." I confirm in a breath, and kiss him again. Lazily, languidly.. he grins.

 

 

 


	15. Degagé

I wake up naked.

 

I'm tangled in sheets, warm arms around my waist, and it takes me a few bleary moments to remember what I did last night, before it all comes back to me in a rush of heat; memories of skin, of sweat, of kisses and moans. Sebastian stirs next to me, and then opens his eyes, taking a half second before he gives me a sleepy smile, and kisses me on the cheek. His arm drags me closer and I let him, burrowing down beneath the sheets again, and falling back to sleep.

 

The next time I blink myself awake, he's gone from the bed, hair wet from a shower as he pads back from the kitchen with a tray in hand. Completely naked. I let my eyes rake over his body, each cutting line of muscle, the slow, lean slope of his shoulders, the slight tan of his skin.  The sweet lines down to the dark blonde hair that nestles at the base of his-

"Like what you see?" He murmurs, amused, and I jump, hiding my face.  Caught out. He sets the tray down on the bedside table - coffee and a rack of toast. 

"No." I lie, my heart thudding. "I prefer tea."  

He rolls his eyes, straightening to go and make me a cup - but I pull him back by the arm, and he leans in to kiss me, his arms encircling my back. I'm lifted out of bed before I even realise it, naked and standing against him, breath catching in my throat when he lifts me to wrap my legs around him, all warm skin and the stiff, hot proof of our desire. 

"..Again..?" I breathe, and he smiles against my mouth, dipping his hand down to ghost over my arse, sending shivers through me. 

"Later." He says regretfully, and kisses me with a lingering tongue. I'm gasping again when he pulls away, and cursing myself for my own over-eagerness. "We slept late. You needed the rest. We'll be late for ballet."

I frown, and glance at the clock behind him, my arms still resting on his muscled shoulders. He's right. It's gone noon. We have to get the tube and have breakfast. I sigh, and he helps me down with another searing kiss. Self-conscious, I scramble back beneath the covers and he laughs, still standing there brazenly. Well. He's certainly got nothing to be shy about.

 

He stands there, sipping coffee. After a moment, he frowns and reaches for the cut on my shoulder. I only realise when he glances at it that it's crusted again, and grimace.

"We'll need to clean it before we go." He tells me, running coffee-warmed fingers along my cheek. "Patch you up again. And I think I have some old stage make-up for these.." His voice is smugly amused, fingers trail along my neck, and I frown at him, clambering from the bed and dragging the covers with me to shield my modesty. I walk into the tiny bathroom and then gasp, swearing at the sight of the fucking purple love bites dotting the skin of my neck.

"..Bastard!"

\--

 

After he's managed to talk me out of giving him love bites of his own ("They'll know we were together. And handsome as I am, something tells me that isn't what you want"), we tuck into breakfast, and then I sit on the edge of the bed while he re-bandages my shoulder, and dabs antiseptic on my cuts and bruises. I'll tell you one thing - after seeing him in action yesterday, it's a wonder that he can be this gentle. 

Even his killing was graceful. Like a dance in itself. 

 

The only kills I've ever had were frenzied, untidy, bursts of violence for purpose, for pay. For Malone's desires. Sebastian killed for me. I watch him, his brow furrowed in concentration as he rubs some kind of salve into my bruises, a frown appearing on his lips as he reaches my stomach. 

"Stop it." I say, quietly. "You're punishing yourself still. I can see it."

"I hit you." He answers immediately, his voice low, unhappy. His eyes remain on his fingers, rubbing carefully into the skin. "I hurt you."

"You thought I was the enemy. I'm lucky you didn't just kill me straight away." I tilt my head. "Very merciful."

He rolls his eyes and then stands, giving a resigned sigh. "That's the best we can do. How do you feel? How's your movement?"

I shrug. "I suppose we'll see today."

We watch each other dress, and I purse my lips in amusement at the sight of him bending and shimmying, stretching and rippling, trying to get into his lycra. He shoots me a look and I snort, bursting out laughing at that unimpressed face, lycra leggings halfway up his thighs. 

"There's no graceful way to do it." He says, indignant, and I laugh again, enjoying seeing him embarrassed for once. I tug on my own with purposeful ease, and a few minutes later - and a long, hot kiss by the door - we're on our way out to get the tube.

 

\--

 

Francois won't stop watching me. 

 

His anxiety is written in his expression, the way his hands keep flitting to his mouth, even after I tell him four or five times not to worry. He exclaimed in horror at the sight of my injuries when we arrived, hands held despairingly to his face - though I feel just fine. We're taking it slow. Sebastian and I took twenty minutes for warm up, standing side by side at the barre to extend, to bend, to stretch. 

 

I feel ready when we take to the floor, and we go through the routine that we showed him before, though his eyes watch me uneasily. I work myself harder to try and prove that I'm fine, though Sebastian too is coddling me. He lifts me carefully, holds me against him, misses the jete so I don't have to do it. At long last, I stand still, hands on my hips, and glare at them both.

"If you two won't stop wrapping me in fucking cotton wool, then I'm not doing this. You're being ridiculous. I feel fine. I just can't do the end fall at the moment because of my shoulder."

Sebastian sighs, and looks to Francois. After a moment, he bats his hands, and declares; "Ok. Fine. We go as normal. But if you hurt yourself again, I will bring Alex in!"

I roll my eyes.

We run through again, and this time it's at full energy. Sebastian and I work on the 'love' that was missing before. He lifts me at the hips, facing him, and I extend in the air, before sliding down his body slowly, meeting his eyes and tilting my head with parted lips, as if about to kiss him. We clasp hands when we jete, and the chase is more of a tease than the genuine, fearful thing that it was before, when I thought he was about to kill me.

 

We kiss. Right before the 'realisation' part. Sebastian pulls me to him in a sequence of long, dragging steps and a slow slide behind me. He dips me at the waist. My ankle rests on his shoulder, my fingers brushing the floor. It happens when he pulls me upright again, our mouths brushing together for just a moment before his face takes on that agonised expression - and I glance to Francois.

 

His mouth is open. 

 

When we finish the end of the last bit - a little flat, only Sebastian doing the fall to save my bad shoulder - he claps, loud and slow. 

"Boys." He says, and gives a minute, dreamlike shake of his head. "We have our first dance."

I grin, and Sebastian saunters over, ruffles my hair and pulls me into a half embrace. It's good. It's actually.. good.

 

\--

 

By the time the session is over, we've  choreographed the scene. There are a few changes, but ultimately, it's kept to our original routine, with Francois reminding us to fully extend, to throw everything into every fall, to let our expressions mirror the feel of the play. We begin brainstorming for the next scene - the famous scene at the balcony, and he tells us excitedly that he's having a balcony made - that we can incorporate it into our dancing. 

 

I feel as excited as Francois is. It's hard to remember that I'm just doing this for the money. That I plan to disappear on opening night, as soon as I have it. Guilt slices through me for a moment, and I'm wracked with it, not hearing what Sebastian's saying as we head down to team rehearsal. He squeezes my fingers, and then we step inside, Francois having gone to get coffee before he joins us.

A woman - tall and dark haired, dressed in thin jogging bottoms and a tight vest stops what she's doing to look at us, and my classmates glance over, all abandoning their poses and positioning, bringing two feet to the floor, looking at each other with quiet murmurs. 

"Ah! These must be our principals!" She remarks in a Spanish accent, clapping excitedly and then heading over to us. She looks to be about forty five, and puts an arm around us both, guiding us inside. "Please, please. Join the others. We are finishing the choreography for the opening!" She pulls us apart, and pushes Sebastian towards Ali and Alex, and a couple of girls. She drags me towards Holly and Tash, Blondie giving me a hesitant smile. I smile back.

"Juliet! Or.. Julian." She winks, and I give a grimace of a smile. "You are meeting with your nurse and mother, and they are introducing you to your new beau." She puts her hands on Holly's shoulders. Holly's playing my forced husband - well.. wife? That's a good twist. And she smiles, pleased. Liona turns away, back to Sebastian.

"Romeo, my Romeo! You and the boys are in a terrible fight. And, some of the girls." Said girls look a touch disgruntled to be put in the Montague/Capulet gangs, but they're good roles. Very physical. Great for ensemble cast. "Now." She claps again twice, and beckons us both back. Sebastian and I head to her side, as Francois steps in with a steaming polystyrene cup of coffee.

 

He takes a seat at the side, and Liona beams. "We will show you what we have so far. You will see where you will fit into the dance, and in a moment, we will choreograph you in, and add lifts."

I grin at Tash, and she winks back, before composing her face, ready to go.

 

I'm excited, I realise. Excited to see what they've done, where we come in. Sebastian's hand brushes mine, and I catch his smile. Him too, then.

 

I feel happy.

 

\--

 

It's fantastic. Brilliantly choreographed, they move in sync, in rhythm, the only breaks the purposeful jarring of the Montagues and the Capulets. The only blaring gaps are the ones that Sebastian and I will need to fill. The opening passage is read aloud by Liona, and will be broadcast eerily over the audience, the only spoken words throughout. That beginning is absolutely beautiful. 

 

Together, Francois and Liona put Sebastian and I into our separate split-scenes, Holly acting the swooning, suave woman as I lift and catch her with reluctance written in my expression, my 'nurse' - Blondie - and 'mother' - Tash, on either side of me. We move smoothly together, no sign of any animosity left between us. Sebastian and the 'Montague boys' - namely Ali and Alex with Antoine and a few of the girls drafted in to help, staging their fight and decision to attend the party. The moves are so different to mine and Sebastian's together - rougher, stronger, energetic. 

The hours pass quickly, disappearing into nothingness. It seems to be no time at all before we're all gathering our things, the scene choreographed but needing practice, Holly throwing her arms around my shoulders as the others file out.

"I'm so sorry for being a bitch." She says into my shoulder, and I laugh, shaking my head.

"Don't be. It wasn't a fair decision."

"But it wasn't your fault. And after what happened.. I just.. I feel so terrible.."  

"Honestly, I'm-"

"And you're brilliant. Really.. it.. it really works."

She releases me, and Blondie approaches sheepishly, though I stop her. "Not you too," I laugh, and she shrugs. 

"I feel bad." She pauses for a moment and glances around, everyone having filed out of the hall we walk down, except for Sebastian, who hangs back purposely slowly, waiting for me, though he looks the other way. "Listen, Jim.." She says, voice dropping to a whisper. "..Did.. anyone.. did the guy who.." She gestures at my injuries. "..Did he say anything? Ask you anything? Before he..?"

 

I blink. I'm not sure what she's talking about. This wasn't just one man. As far as I know, they all think that I've been mugged.

I open my mouth to answer, but a scream pierces the air. A long, pained shriek that comes from the front doors. The sound of a motorbike purring to action and speeding away follows. 

"..No!" Blondie gasps, and runs for the door, and after a split second glance at Sebastian, we follow.

Alex lays on the pavement, our classmates surrounding him, blood gushing from a wound in his stomach. He presses his fingers to the bloodied fabric of his t shirt, Holly screaming and Tash trying to put pressure on the wound. Ali pulls the smaller boy's head into his lap, screaming 'call an ambulance! Call a fucking ambulance!" For a moment, I'm frozen, but Sebastian is already running, his feet pounding down the steps as he tries to give chase. 

 

The motorbike speeds away.

Blondie has gone pale.

 

 I rush down to help.

 

\--


	16. Cabriole

I pull out my phone with shaking fingers, and manage to call an ambulance, explaining that my friend's been stabbed, that we're outside the Grand Hall. Tash's hands are crimson to the wrist as she tries to stem the bleeding, and Holly is hyperventilating, Blondie moving to put an arm around her shoulders. 

 

Alex is no longer conscious, head lolling in Ali's lap, though Ali speaks to him, his voice hoarse and trembling as he pats at his cheeks, trying to keep him awake.

"Alex.. Alex.. Come on, Alex, wake up."

He looks so small. 

Sebastian runs back over, having tried to chase down the motorbike, and kneels down beside them, dragging off his vest and folding it three times, before pressing it to the wound and pinning Tash's hands on top of it. "Keep that there." He says authoritatively, stern, and Tash nods, tearful. I head down myself, managing a small "The ambulance is on the way."

I lift my phone back to my ear, and the voice on the other side tells me to put pressure on the wound, though I assure her that we are. I pass the phone to Antoine, who stands with Samantha, the two of them horrorstruck as we stand around him, just the small group of us. Samantha has only just arrived, assumedly to meet with Ali, and she steps forwards, giving his shoulder a squeeze.

"The ambulance is coming." She repeats, reassures, and I just nod dumbly, before turning to look at Blondie, who is watching with a haunted expression, the pavement slowly pooling with blood. Little Alex. So good at the lifts.. What the hell happened?

"What the hell happened?" Sebastian says, raising his head with a frown, mirroring my exact sentiments. 

"There.. there.. was.. he.. he..-" Holly tries, her breaths hitching, before she collapses into a flood of shocked tears, Antoine putting a slightly numb arm around her shoulders. Sebastian frowns and I purse my lips, finding it hard not to be irritated. In our industry, this kind of thing happens all the time. In normal life, not so much. We have to be fair.

Tash speaks a little more clearly, albeit numbly, her voice trembling. "..A guy.. he came up to us.. And he asked Alex.. if.." She frowns, screwing up her face for a moment, like it makes no sense. "..He asked him if.. he was a.. _moron_ , or.. or something."

"He thought he was joking!" Holly moans, before collapsing into more sobs, making the mistake of looking at Alex. He's deathly pale, and even Ali has stopped trying to wake him, instead just rocking with him, occasionally saying his name.  Ambulance sirens are faint in the distance. I'm still in shock, just hovering around it all in resignation, not able to help.

 

"And then what happened?" Sebastian demands, himself having gone a little pale. Tash finishes in a near whisper, looking down at her bloodied hands on Alex' stomach.

"..He said _yes_. He was.. laughing, we thought he was.. taking the piss.."

"And then he stabbed him." I summarise bleakly, my eyes finding Sebastian's. He shares my gaze grimly, and I swallow.

 

The man didn't ask if he was a moron.

 

He asked if he was 'Moran'.

\--

 

Alex is loaded into the ambulance by EMTs who exude a calm, professional confidence, Ali and Tash going with him to the hospital. We all say his name when asked what it is, and the medics glance at each other, before telling us all to sit down, eat something sugary, report what's happened to the police as soon as possible. Antoine is already on the phone with them, and passes the phone to Holly to try and give a description of the man, though from what she says, it sounds as if he was covered by his hood and a bandana over his mouth.

 

"This is bad.." I say to Sebastian quietly, turning away from the others, and he nods, his lips pursed.

"Little Alex." He mutters, his voice disgusted at whoever did this. He runs an anxious hand across his face, a touch of despair falling into his words "..Fuck.. He's dying because of me. It should have been me. That should be me." His eyes follow the ambulance and I shake my head, giving him a hard push to the chest.

"No. No you don't. You stop that right now. This is no one's fault except for whoever that fucking.. psycho idiot is."

"It could be one of Bogdanov's." Sebastian says back, hands in his hair. He's shirtless, and I bend down, fumbling in his sports bag until I find another vest and then force him to pull it over his head. I tug it down over his chest and stomach, and he stands with his fingers at his lips, watching the flashing lights disappear. "One of my brothers did that. It had to be them."

I turn to Blondie, who is still standing, her fingers curled into fists, staring down numbly at the blood on the pavement. I squeeze Sebastian's fingers, and then head over to her, though she doesn't seem to hear me until the third time I say her name.

_"Blondie._ " I wish I knew her damned real name. Her gaze snaps to me, and she breathes hard, eyes wet. "..You knew, didn't you?" I say quietly. "This is what you've been asking me about."

She's still for a minute, and then her bottom lip quivers, and she falls onto me. I hug her, patting her on the shoulder.

"My cousin.." She says, feebly, words deeply unhappy. "He's at the Rosewater Company in Shoreditch. They had the same thing happen a few weeks ago.. A guy asked one of their leads something. He got defensive, started pushing the guy. He got stabbed. Nobody knows.. they.. they didn't..-"

 

I'm nodding, fear creeping over me too, and hugging her a little tighter, though I'm still not sure how it can be a correlation.. Blondie goes on.

"And.. and then my best friend. She's at the Mosaic Company. Not far from here.. they.. they had the same thing happen, but the guy said 'no' to.. whatever it was.. real.. real nice about it." She stops for a second, and then says; "..He still got stabbed."

Another. I frown. She sniffs.

"..And.. then _you_. I though.. maybe they might have asked.. but..  but now.. Alex..-"

"I don't know what's happening." I lie, my words quiet, and I rub her back. My eyes find Sebastian, and he's heard every word, is standing with his thumb and forefinger running across his lips, anxious. A man hunt. It's a man hunt. It's all happened so fast.

 

Bogdanov is tired of waiting.

 

\--

 

"This is so fucking _wrong!_ " Sebastian roars, slamming his fists against the walls of his flat. We got back around ten minutes ago, after staying to have tea with the group in the Grand Hall cafe, everyone shaken up. We got a call from the hospital too, just as we were leaving - Alex had been stabilised. Good news. Kind of.  As good as it can be. We left them all, still sitting close together, and left fifty pence each to get Alex a get well card and some grapes for the ward.

I jump at the violence, but turn to face him, frowning with a shake of my head. "..It's certainly a desperate attempt." I agree, being careful. Sebastian is inconsolable, and has been restless since it happened. "But it isn't your fault. Honestly, it isn't."

"Of course it is!" He says, turning to me and throwing up his hands. "Suppose that had been you, Jim? Suppose it was you they slashed open? I'd never.. be able to live with myself. Alex is bad enough.. But fucking.. across the city.. principals, for God's sakes.. _Kids_!"

He sits down hard on the sofa, his head in his hands. I step closer,  and then tentatively loop my arms around his neck, expecting him to jump up, to explode. But he doesn't. He leans back, relaxes a little against me, his eyes closed. I kiss him lightly on the cheek, my words quiet.

"It isn't your fault." 

He doesn't answer for a few minutes. We're together in silence, and I can almost hear the cogs turning in his mind. His voice is low when he speaks. Resigned. "..I'm going to go to him. Bogdanov."

"No." I let him go, and give him a push. He turns to look back at me, his expression desperate. 

"Jim.. you heard what she said." Sebastian replies tiredly. "Two men. Two companies. Alex makes three."

"It's a man hunt." I agree softly, but he shakes his head.

"No.  _No_ , it isn't. They aren't looking for me. My brothers  _know_ what I look like. They're making waves in the ballet circuit. Broadcasting my name. Maiming on my behalf."

Something prickles cold into my stomach. I hadn't thought about that. But of course he's right. Sebastian continues.

"..He's not hunting me. He's flushing me out."

 

I fall silent for a moment and then move around to sit next to him. After a moment, he adds a morose murmur, closing his eyes. 

"..And it's working."

"...So you're going to let him win? Go and accept your fucking.. _death_?" I laugh incredulously, without humour, and Sebastian looks away. "You can't just lie down and die for him, Sebastian!"

"Until I do, this'll keep happening." He answers me simply, with hard eyes. "Alex might be stable, but what about the next one? I might be a killer, but fucking Christ, this is.." He pulls a face, and then leans back on the sofa, his eyes closed. "..They're innocents."

_"You're_ innocent!" I plead, throwing up my hands. He opens his eyes, regarding me with a shadow of that wry smile.

"..I killed two people for you yesterday." He remarks, and I sigh exasperatedly. 

"That's nothing to do with this! Just.. don't be rash. Come on." I'm begging him now, terrified by that bitter resignation in his eyes, the half acceptance of his own fate. I grab at his hands. "Sebastian. _Please._ Please.. you can't. This is madness. We've got opening night in two weeks. I need you."

"Ali can take over." Sebastian says quietly, and his thumb strokes over the backs of my fingers. He won't look at me. No. I won't fucking have this. This is like a fucking.. hostage negotiation. Blackmail. You never give in to demands. You just pay the perpetrator back, ten fold.

Only last night, I gave myself to him. Gave him everything.  I never thought I'd be in so deep when I started this, but fuck it, I am. Sebastian is a talented dancer, an expert killer. But he has a moral compass. And that old bastard is exploiting it. It's clever. It's genius. It's the kind of man I hope to be, when I'm a Boss myself. But right now, it's sickening. I despise him, hate him with every fibre of my being. I can't let Sebastian go. I won't.

  
I pull his face to look at me, none too gently. My eyes are hard, my words authoritative.

"No." I say, and point a finger at him. "I forbid it. Do you fucking understand me, Sebastian Moran?"

 

"That name is poison." He answers wryly, rolling his eyes. He sighs. "I'm trying to do the right thing, Jim."

"..So. We kill him." I say, like it's that simple. Sebastian blinks at me. A few beats of silence swim between us. He half sits up. 

 

"..What?"

"..We kill Bogdanov."

He speaks slowly, carefully. "..If you kill Bogdanov, you kill The National."

I shrug. I don't care about The National. His loved ones don't need to die. Just their insipid leader. "So be it."

Sebastian looks uncomfortable. He was raised there. They're his family. Bogdanov is essentially his father. I feel heat, fiercely in my stomach. He meets my eyes, and holds my gaze, something stirring in them. He's considering it.

"We.. could do it." He says contemplatively, and I grin. I'm full of bloodlust. I want vengeance for Alex. I want to take away Sebastian's fear.  I'm relieved that I'm not going to lose him. Well. That he's not going to turn himself in at least. Walk to his own death. 

 

"When?" I ask, and the words leave his lips almost before he's had chance to consider.

"..Opening night." 

I frown, thinking of the casualties. I need to ask Blondie how often the stabbings were, but it looks as though it could be every few days. The longer we wait, the more we endanger. I open my mouth to say so, but Sebastian interrupts.

"I know. But it'll stop."

I frown. "..How can you be so sure?"

Sebastian takes my fingers in his, watching them as he twines them together, his words calm, as if we haven't decided this only moments ago. His eyes shine with realisation, and meet mine. 

"I was going to ask Francois to leave me off the posters. My name.. my face.. They'll be going up any day now."

"..But..?" I probe, uncertain.

"But I'll have him leave me on. Broadcast me for the city to see. The attacks will stop, because this is my white flag. It's me, telling Bogdanov where to find me."

A cold chill creeps into my chest.

"..And you'll just leave it to chance like that? It's two weeks to opening night. Suppose he just decides to send someone over, to take you out after class?"

"He won't." Sebastian says confidently. "He likes his theatrics. And if he knows where I am, he won't kill any of the others. This is me, giving myself up. I'm still doing it, just.. not as drastically as walking into his office and facing his gun."

I frown. It's a huge risk. Both for Sebastian, and for the other ballet boys across London, oblivious to the danger that they're in.

 

But he knows Bogdanov.

 

I trust him with that, at least.

 

"I'll need you to talk to Malone." He decides, sitting up, taking in my uneasy expression. He runs the backs of his fingers over my cheek, words calm and authoritative. "Tell him that I've essentially given myself up. That there's a time and date on me, now. There's every chance Bogdanov will call him off anyway, but I'd rather.. ensure it."

  
I nod, leaning into his touch. "..I can do that."

He pulls me into his arms, rests his face in my hair. I like it when he does that. A ball of anxiety nestles in my stomach, terrified for the next two weeks. But it's better than him going to his death now, turning himself in to save the others. At least this way we can plan. We can come up with something. 

"I'll have Francois get the posters up as soon as possible. Meanwhile.. we should contact the papers or something. Online forums.. Facebook. Spread the word through the ballet circuit. Walk in groups, keep away from men on motorbikes." He sighs, and I shift closer, pressing my lips to his neck for a moment. He holds me tighter. "It won't stop this fucker if he really does want to hurt them, but.. it might keep them safe until we can get the posters up."

"And then it'll stop." I say, still a little uneasy. Sebastian nods, more certain. He knows them, after all. His family. His 'father'.

"And then it'l stop." He repeats, and I nod, falling into silence. It's a touch calmer than a few minutes ago, a resolution found, even if it's on shaky ground, propped up by trust and assumption. Sebastian is taking it for granted that Bogdanov is more theatric than vengeful, more trusting than efficient. I know for a fact that if it was Malone, Sebastian would be dead the second those posters hit the wall of the Grand Hall, the bus stops and the ad pages. But it isn't Malone. And I have to trust him.

Two weeks. We have two weeks until opening night. To think of a way out of the death sentence.

I lace our fingers. "..We'll think of something." I murmur. "Together. That's how we're strongest."

He closes his eyes, inhaling the scent of my hair. I think it must help him, somehow. I probably smell like his own shampoo. We're comfortable. Calm. Happy. Slightly relieved. I kiss the backs of hi hands.

"..Unless you're trying to do a jete." He quips, a lazy murmur against my hair. "Then I think I'm probably strongest alone.."

I hit him, and he laughs quietly, tugging me carefully against him and ruffling my hair. We smile, but there's anxiety in our eyes. Fear, even. Mixed with fierce determination. We're playing with fire. He leans in to kiss me, and it's rough, needing. I fist my hands in his hair, pulling him down on top of me. Two weeks. One date. A thousand enemies.

 

And so it begins.

 

 


	17. Épaulement

We sleep in each others arms, naked and sated, after a night of rough kissing, and eventually losing ourselves with mouths on skin, sucking and biting, and warm, salty bursts down my throat that I hadn't yet experienced. Sebastian's low groan of my name rings out throughout the flat, and settles, hot in my stomach.  
  
The next week seems to fly by without thought, my every waking moment occupied by trying to figure out how to take Bogdanov down. We have  a limited window. A single day. Not even that - the few hours of an evening where much of it will be spent being thrown around the stage by the target of the old man's hostility. By Sebastian. My Sebastian. I won't allow this to end badly. I just can't. Forget remaining objective. Forget remaining unattached. I'm attached.  I'm..

 

In love.

 

The single rehearsals are going well. Francois brings in the balcony scaffolding, has arranged for it to stay in our rehearsal room, and our rehearsals have become daily. I don't go back to training. We dance on the scaffolding, around the scaffolding, more lifts and leaps, falls and holds - sensual, forbidden love that has Francois jumping up and down in his excitement. In two days, we have the scene choreographed. Sebastian scares me to fucking death, flipping backwards from the balcony, swinging down with impossible grace, landing on his feet and demanding more dangerous lifts and then laughing at me when I pale. The next scene we have together is our marriage, and things begin to get confusing, the team rehearsals so far behind, still idling at the party scenes. Tash and Blondie, and Antoine and Ali begin to have separate rehearsals too, for their scenes together and for Sebastian and I to slot into.

 

The atmosphere is subdued at team rehearsal. Abuzz with whispers about the knife wielding vigilante attacking male ballet danseurs, and morose when we receive updates about Alex' condition from his father, who stops by twice in the week. We stick close. No animosity remains between us, and it's nice. More often than not, we stay and go to the cafe after practice for tea and biscuits, juice or dinner, and once, Francois orders a mountain of pizza to the room, and we all cheer and stay behind to eat and talk. Even Sebastian joins in, though he rolls his eyes at much of what is said, and after a while retires to the corner, anxiously flipping through his phone.

Every night, we go home. To Sebastian's flat. We reconvene, we discuss ideas and we toss them out just as easily. Sebastian gets angry, shouting and cursing, and sitting on the floor with his head in his hands. I sit by him, quiet.  We have sex. Mind-numbing, rough and partially dressed against the wall or on the floor, or slow, sensual, with kissing and light touches. It changes each time, depending on how stressed we are about impending doom.

 

One week left.

 

Still no real plan.

 

\--

 

We're halfway through team rehearsal when I see it. We're up to Mercutio's death, and the Tybalt chase, and it's dramatic, a heart-wrenching scene, even if I'm not in it. I'm grinning, excited as I watch Sebastian, watch him fall to his knees in despair and then leap up in a jete, his movements violent and angry as he and Ali, playing Tybalt, move in a chase around the room. I'm standing beside Francois and Liona, the two of them distracted by the scene, giving direction and counting the beats of the heavy, classical track.

 

I glance over to Francois' notebook, and see flyers poking out of the side. Curious, I take them, and flick through, still watching the performance in front of me. I watch Sebastian 'kill' Ali with violent dance, and it's fantastic. Francois says we'll be using blood and everything, none of that red ribbon fuckery. Stage blood, really send it into orbit.

'Swan Lake', by the Mosaic Company, the flyer reads. A picture of a delicately posed ballerina, with white wings. I raise my eyebrows, and turn it over. The next one, the Rosewater Company's 'Medea', the leaflet black and minimalist. The next, an original French play from the Morris Way Company, and then an adaptation of 'The Bell Jar' by the Cuckoo Company. This season's productions.

 

 Our own flyers are sitting in a stack in the corner, bloodlust red with a flurry of calligraphed writing. It reads Romeo and Julian, and our names - mine, and Sebastian's - sit pride of place at the top. The banner outside has him on it. An arabesque, his hands reaching out for another. For my hand - leading onto the second banner, where I look up at him from a splayed position on the ground, our expressions those of pining. Those photographs were embarrassing to take. It sends a spike of panic through me when I remember that they're plastered around the city for the world to see.

 

For Bogdanov to see.

 

 The last flyer makes my mouth dry. 'La Sylphide', by The National. Their opening night is the day before ours. In the Royal Albert Hall. 

 

They'll be there, rehearsing right now.

Temptation claws at me. I want to see what they can do. I want to get close, to sneak around, to see what I can find. Something has to be able to help us. Some revelation, something Sebastian hasn't yet considered.  We haven't thought of anything yet after all, and our fate ticks closer by the second. I have to help him. Help us.

 

I replace the rest of the flyers, and fold this one in two, and then crumple it in my fist. I'm going to go.

 

\--

 

Sebastian and Ali finish the dance with a slap on the back from Francois, both grinning, exultant and breathless. We all clap for them, and then the team is retiring down to the cafe for drinks, Sebastian picking up his sports bag and heading over to me. I swallow, my throat thick, and then plaster a smile on my face.

"I'm going to go home," I begin, and he tilts his head at me. 

  
"I'll come with you then." He says, "I don't much fancy tea anyway. And I'm knackered."

I shake my head. "I.. I actually meant.. to my flat. I need to pick up a few more things."

Sebastian purses his lips. "..We'll go together then."

I shrug. "I can handle it myself. I think you gave them enough of a scare." I smile, worm my way into his arms. The others have already filed out. Sebastian is already shaking his head, indignant anger flaring from exhaustion.

"Out of the question, Jim. How do you know they won't just fucking turn on you? They-"

"It's been a week." I remind him, giving him a pointed look. "And I  _can_ look after myself."

 

"Yeah, right," He scoffs a little angrily, "Just like you could last time?"

I scowl and step away from him, folding my arms. "I'm sorry if outrunning fifty men isn't as impressive as beating up three." I remark coldly, and he laughs unkindly, before shaking his head. We stand at odds for a moment, silent. We're stressed. Strained. Pushed to the limit by constant rehearsal, and the panic, the anxiety that sits on our chests every day, forcing us to try and think, think, think of a way to survive opening night.

Sebastian breaks first. 

 

He closes his eyes, and sighs. "..I'm sorry." He sounds tired, and he reaches for me, folding me into his arms. I let him, and circle my arms around his back. "..Of course, you should go. Just.. call me, please. The first sign of any trouble. And when you leave."

"Alright." I say quietly, feeling fucking terrible about lying. He holds me for a moment longer, and then kisses me on the head, and releases me, small smile on his lips. 

"..Guess I can go get some tea after all then."

"Guess so." I smile, and I stand until he's left the room, sports bag on his shoulder, heading down to meet with the others.

 

My heart skittering a little, I snatch up my own bag, and hurry towards the exit.

 

\--

 

I reach the Royal Albert Hall about half an hour later, still clutching my flyer. I head straight through the doors and straight to the main hall, walking straight and proud as if I'm supposed to be here. Nobody at the box office stops me, and I'm suddenly relieved that I didn't think to change out of my lycra.

 

The music blares, a loud and happy beat, the sounds of instruments intertwining - they have a live orchestra. My eyebrows shoot up, and I hurry inside, closing the door softly behind me. The huge hall and its thousand red velvet seats are all empty, hidden in darkness while the stage is alive, and awash in light. They're mid-show, and I sneak into a seat to watch, the men and women all wearing plain black leggings, embossed black vests, their expressions hard and concentrated. 

 

They're completely mesmerising.

 

It's like watching twenty Sebastians. They have the same poise, the same grace, the same impossible balance and speed between moves, the same insane ability to spin and spin and spin in their pirouettes, to leap higher and farther in their jetes. They're a river of people, twisting and turning together, bodies joining, separating fluidly, the lifts smooth and seamless, taking my breath away.

 

My eyes settle on the leading man, undoubtedly the 'James' in their 'La Sylphide', who bounds across the stage, swinging around the girls as if they weigh nothing, turning them from the waist, holding them above his head, bent back. There's even a fairly impressive lift in which he holds a girl above his head by a foot, and she extends in an arabesque. She drops back down, in his arms for barely a half second before she's on her feet and flitting away. He follows.

 

Mad. And I recognise a couple of them from Sebastian's picture, though I can't recall the names.

 

I sit, clutching my flyer for ten more minutes, when they stop after a dramatic group fall, and I jump to my feet to applaud - before remembering, and immediately ducking down to hide. I'm a fucking idiot. I was so caught up in it. Jesus. No wonder they win awards.

 

They take their three bows to the empty hall, and then begin to file from the stage, and I take my chance. I dash down through the aisle, and slip into the door beside the stage, closing it behind me and locking myself into darkness. I stand there for a few seconds, and the reminder floats through my mind that these people are trained killers. But so am I, I hasten to assure myself.

 

I didn't even bring a damned knife with me.

 

After a while, I start to move. Tiptoeing steps that take me slowly, carefully towards backstage, where I can hear a booming Russian voice that sounds much older than these twenty-somethings. Bogdanov. It has to be. My heart leaps into my throat. A smattering of applause follows whatever he'd said, and pleased voices follow, with scattered, lazy footsteps. The end of their rehearsal, then. I peek around the curtain in time to see a stiff looking, grey-haired man in a maroon suit head towards a back office.

 

How easy it would be to run at him now, to put my hands around his throat. To steal something sharp, and drive it through his chest. To save Sebastian. Though I'd be dead before I could escape the building, I know that much.

 

 I'm still considering it.

 

How strange it is, that I'm considering martyrdom for a man that I detested only a little over a week ago.

 

\--

 

I discard the idea after a while. My death would help no one. And Sebastian would hate himself for not being able to 'protect me', though it exasperated me how caught up with that idea he is. He'll probably kill me just for coming here alone. Ironically.

 

I step lightly, approaching the office, ducking behind a corner as Bogdanov comes out again, crunching into some kind of wafer biscuit. He curses in Russian as crumbs fall onto his suit, and heads off immediately, glancing up at a sign referencing 'toilets' first. I slip into his office, and quietly close the door, quietly pleased. Something. There has to be something. Something that can bring Bogdanov down, that can help us, something that Sebastian wouldn't know.

 

I don't want this to come down to a fight. Not with Sebastian against his family. His expertly trained, cold-blooded killer family.

 

I rifle through papers for a few minutes, finding invoices and pastry receipts, packets of biscuits and signed contracts, but nothing out of the ordinary. I give a growl of frustration under my breath, before my fingers close around something - an insulin injection. A diabetic? With such a sweet tooth? I frown. Well. I suppose it could be used to our advantage. It's new information, at least.

 

I continue in my search, and come across another biscuit tin, the lid falling off in my haste. Scowling, I bend to pick it up - and a key falls out. I stare at the key, and then at the drawers beneath Bogdanov's desk, one of them locked. A slow smile spreads across my face. Bingo.

"What are you doing?"

I jump out of my skin, fingers curling tight around the key and disappearing behind my back. Really subtle. The lead stands in the door. The principal of The National Company. The 'James' of their 'La Sylphide'. He's leaning in the doorway, tall and muscled, tanned with a lopsided smile, and his eyes are as chocolate brown as his hair. I wonder idly for a moment if it's in Bogdanov's quota for children to find ones with futures as attractive adults. He must be my age, or older. 

I swallow. 

"I got lost."

I'm not sure how much he's seen. Did he see me rifling through the papers? Snatching open the biscuit tin? Or has he just stepped around the door, seeing me standing here, frozen as I stare at the key in my hands? Did he see the key?

His smile broadens, taunting as he examines his fingernails nonchalantly. "That so?" He asks, and I shrug and nod. I need to get out. I'm going to die here. It only takes one shout to bring others running. My heart is beginning to pound. The 'James' continues, looking at me, slowly sucking at his bottom lip, and then taking a step towards me.

"I know why you're here." He says, and I hope that I'm imagining that suggestive edge to his voice. I blink at him, somewhat.. surprised. He smiles again, lazy. "..I saw you in the audience. Watching me." He pushes himself from the doorway, sauntering towards me, and I freeze, fingers tightening behind my back on the key.

"I'll admit," He muses, "It's not the first time I've had a groupie sneak back stage for me, but.." He winks, and my mouth falls open a touch, surprised. "..Never one as gorgeous as you, sweetest."

He thinks I've snuck in to see him. That I'm obsessed with him. A fan.

 

I grab the opportunity with both hands, and run a mock sheepish hand through my hair, looking away.

"..Sorry.." I say coyly. "I just couldn't help myself."

 

He reaches out, runs his thumb along my bottom lip, and I stiffen. "What's your name, sweetest?" He purrs, and I say the first thing that comes to mind, trying not to open my mouth. 

"..Rich."

"Rich.." He murmurs, nodding. "Rich and Ryan.. I like it. Though," He gives me a mock chiding frown. "..You shouldn't really be in here. This is the company director's office."

I giggle, acting shy. "..Oops." It's repulsive.

He steps closer, thumb still running along my lip, and then presses it into my mouth, and hot fear slides into my stomach. Yes, he's.. good looking, but Jesus, he's presumptuous.. And I think I remember a Ryan on Sebastian's list. This is.. this is basically his brother.

 

I'm in so much trouble.

 

I need to get out.

"We'll have to be quick." Ryan murmurs, and runs a hand through my hair, pulling his thumb free of my lips after I give it a tentative suck. He begins to tug down his lycra leggings, revealing muscular thighs and everything in between. No underwear. I look away hurriedly, and he laughs quietly, before bracing a hand on my shoulder and trying to push me down to my knees.

 

Fuck, no. 

 

I let him push me down. Let him slide his hands into my hair, and take himself out. Let him.. stroke himself, so close to my mouth that I'm leaning back in my discomfort, only for him to tug me closer again. He's blocking the door. There's no way I can get past him like this, not with him watching me so intently. I have to wait for him to be distracted. A trickle of dread slips into my stomach. 

 

Forgive me, Sebastian.

I lean in, and reluctantly, uneasily,  take him into my mouth. 

He groans quietly, though the sound is an amused, smug hum of ". _.Baby._.", and it makes me feel ill. He's still watching me, and so detestably, unhappily, I suck a touch harder. Lave my tongue over him. He cards his fingers through my hair. He's hot and heavy in my mouth, against my tongue, and he tastes like salt and sweat. He pushes in further, hard enough to make me gag, and I make an involuntary sound around him.

He grins. Tips his head back. Closes his eyes. Begins to rock against my mouth.

 

My chance.

I pull back at the same time as my hand flies out, jolts him at the ankle, and brings him down hard onto the floor. He'll be up any second, so I scramble to my  feet and aim a kick to his exposed crotch, the connection of ballet flat and skin making me wince, as does his breathless, grunt of pain, followed by a roar. It's all happened so fast. My heart races. He snatches at me, enraged as I leap over him, running with the key, hoping that he'll dismiss me as a spurned fan, or a scared virgin, something like that. Maybe even the attempt of a rival company to gain intelligence on their show and dancers. 

 

Not a thief. 

 

I hear feet pounding after me as I dash to the stage door, and my heart is slamming into my ribs, wondering how in the world he recovered so fast - he must have been on his feet, after me in seconds. Elite fighters. Killers. Holding in the pain somehow. Jesus Christ. I throw myself at the door until it opens, key still clutched in my clammy palm, running at breakneck speed across the car park and through the streets, heading for the nearest tube station. I feel dirty. Awful.

 

"Little bastard!" I hear, the word roared after me, saturated with pain and rage. I dash into the station, swipe my card and leap onto the first train, running through and sitting down on the furthest seat, still panting.

 

\--


	18. Pas de bourrée

I hope it was worth it. 

 

I'm shaking on the way home, cursing myself for being so weak, and I stand and walk around the tube carriage, attracting a few looks. So what? I did what I had to do to get out of there. And he wasn't bad looking, even if he was a complete arse. I feel a little exultant at being able to get away with the key, at hurting him, putting him in pain. And this key could really help us. We can go back in the dead of night and dig around in that drawer. Find whatever Bogdanov wants to keep hidden away.

I vow to kill him. One day.  _Ryan._  


 

I'm jumpy as I walk home in the dark, imagining him behind me, following me, ready to push me down into an alley and take what he wants. I feel sick. Panicky. Not like a trained killer. I walk faster, and reach Sebastian's place just as he opens the door, his expression flitting from worry to anger when he sees me. 

"What the hell are you playing at?" He yells, throwing his arms out. "You were supposed to call me! I was just on my way over there to fucking-"

"I'm here now." I say simply, though my voice comes out smaller than I intended it, and he frowns at me for a moment, his anger seeming to fade to concern. He steps closer, anxiously looking me over.

"..Are you hurt?"

 

Green eyes scrutinize me, and I shake my head. He looks around us, and then leads me back inside, his arm sliding around my shoulders. I lean into him, the comfort instantaneous. He hasn't showered yet after ballet, but I don't care. He's warm, and he smells lie himself. Like his flat, and fabric softener, and faintly of sweat and coffee. He pushes me onto the sofa and I toe off my shoes, proceeding to bury my face in the sofa throw.

 

Sebastian returns after a few minutes with two steaming cups of tea, and I sit up with the throw around my shoulders, and take one. It's only really hitting me now, with Sebastian's comfort and his  warmth, just what happened. What I did. For a key.

 

My chest feels tight when I think about it, uneasiness pulsing through my veins. I couldn't have been.. on my knees.. for more than a few minutes, but it seems like an eternity. It doesn't matter how long it was for. I still betrayed Sebastian. I'm staring, horrorstruck into my tea when I feel his hand on my shoulder, his fingers warm and soft, his gaze concerned.

"..You gonna tell me what happened?" He asks gently, though he purses his lips. "..Was it your flatmates? Did they say something? Because I'm not above going back there and beating-"

"No." I say just as quietly, and shake my head. "Not that. Not - nothing happened. Nothing."

The lie is smooth, but uneasy, and I lean against him, closing my eyes.

"I'm just tired." I add, and Sebastian hesitates for a moment before his arms slide around me properly, encase me in his warmth, and I fist my hands in his vest, his amused little laugh a touch strained. Worried.

"Okay." He says simply, at last. His face comes to rest in my hair, and his fingers run soothingly over my back, and it's all I can do not to burst into tears. We stay like that for a while. Easily a long ten minutes

"I lied." I croak at last, muffled into his shoulder, my voice thick.

 

"..I know." Sebastian answers me simply, quietly. He sighs. "I went straight to the flat from the cafe when I hadn't heard from you. You weren't there."

I sit back hurriedly and look at him, feeling slight indignation prick at my shame. "..You didn't trust me to look after myself?" I say, my voice still rasping. He frowns, answering quickly, reaching for me again.

"Of course I did. I.. was just worried." He gives a wry smile, still watching me carefully. "..I thought you'd hate me." The smile slides away uneasily. "..Then where did you go?"

I swallow. Drop his gaze.

 

"After Bogdanov."

 

\--

 

Sebastian blinks at me for a few seconds, in blind shock, and I can see the cogs turning in his mind, trying to understand what I just said. How it can be true. How I can possibly have gone after Bogdanov. 

"After Bogdanov." He repeats, his words deceivingly calm, his eyes hard on mine. He takes the mug of tea from my hands, and places it down on the table. I hold up my hands, words pouring out of me.

"I went to watch The National rehearsal.. I thought I might uncover something that we hadn't thought about-"

"Hadn't thought about?" Sebastian interjects angrily, his voice raised. "I lived with the fuckers for twenty three years! What could there possibly be that I haven't-"

"This." I say, and hold up the key. My words are defiant, a plea. I need him to tell me that I've done the right thing. That this is important, that it might save us. That it justifies.. what I had to do to escape. "Whatever he keeps locked away!"

"Where did you get that?" He asks me, exasperated and angry, a hand running through his hair. "Jesus fucking Christ Jim - do you know what they would have done to you if you'd been caught? Do you know what they would have  _done?_ "

  
Yes. I do.

"But they didn't catch me, and I'm fine." I insist, pressing the key into his hand. "It's from his office. At the Albert Hall."

"You're insane." He tells me, shaking his head, and then a moment later gives a heavy sigh, rubbing at his eyes. "You could have gotten yourself killed."

"You're not listening!" I say, and push him, green eyes finding mine unhappily. I practically climb into his lap, and snatch the key back, waving it. "This could be it! This could save us."

"It's a key to a drawer in a dance hall!" Sebastian replies, and throws up his hands. "For all we know, all he has in there are fucking.. caramel waffles!"

Unease drips uncomfortably into my stomach. He might be right. Of course, he might be right. It might all have been for nothing after all. I shake my head.

"Suppose.. suppose it's something he always takes with him?" I say hopefully, and Sebastian thinks for a moment, frowning.

He sighs, conceding with a look at the key. "..Maybe." He shakes his head, falling back against the sofa. "Maybe."

A sliver of relief slides into my chest. Sebastian's hands wrap around my wrists, and pull me closer. "Don't you ever do that again, do you understand me?" He warns, his eyes soft but his words hard. "You do, and I'm walking straight in there and giving myself up. I can't  _deal_ with that, Jesus fucking Christ, Jim.."

"I'm fine." I assure him, and lean in to kiss him. I freeze before I make it to his mouth, remembering. He arches an eyebrow at me, curious.

"..What?"

I swallow, my throat tight. "..Stopped for pizza." I babble, climbing off him and running to the bathroom. "Garlic breath."

He watches me, a little amusement in his confusion, in his relief as I close the bathroom door behind me. I set the key on the sink, and then wash my mouth out with three caps of peppermint mouthwash. I can still taste that idiot.

 

I'll kill him. I vow it. 

 

\--

 

We go the next day. 

 

I wake up feeling better about everything, the sun streaming through the windows and the key safely on the bedside table. Sebastian sleeps naked, and I pull back the covers, enjoying just watching him for a while, though I know that if he wakes up he'll call me creepy, and then smirk, folding his arms behind his head to display himself more. 

 

I open the bedside drawer and take out his lubricant, watching him as I stroke myself, as I slide back my hand and slip a finger into myself, and then minutes later a second, and a third. My lips are parted, my body glistening slightly, and I'm on the brink when I realise that he's awake and watching me. He's hard against his own stomach, and his eyes have a slightly wild glint to them, something that makes me shiver. His hands are warm, rough against my waist, and he tugs me to him, pressing our mouths together with a hungry urgency, his own fingers sliding down to explore the slick preparation. He groans, quiet and low.

  
He pulls me on top of him, pushes me up to straddle him and then presses himself inside me, a long gasp catching in my throat. My eyes flutter closed, and he swears quietly, his hands tight on my thighs as I start to rock, the most beautiful start to a morning. It almost erases what happened yesterday.

 

Almost.

 

Sebastian sits, propped against the headboard as I rock in his lap, and after a few minutes, the bed is creaking, and we're moaning together, short, sharp fractured sounds that escape our mouths and mingle in the air. I feel it when he comes, shudder at the curse of my name that leaves his throat as he tips his head back, and I follow soon after, painting my own fingers white.

 

We collapse back into the sheets, slick and satisfied, grinning into the pillows. I pad into the kitchen to make breakfast.

 

-

 

For once, the rehearsals drag.

 

The tension is written in Sebastian's body as he lifts me, as we turn together, finishing choreographing our marriage scene, and our 'first time'. It's as sensual as I originally feared it would be, but I find that I don't mind it now. Sebastian lowers me slowly to the ground, and I slide between his legs, before kicking up to my feet on the other side - and he stands to meet me, the two of us stepping in sync, bodies pressed together, lips only centimentres apart. When we finally finish for the day, Francois fans himself and I laugh, my cheeks pink. Sebastian gives a mock bow, and then winks at me, and I pretend to be disgusted by him.

 

Team rehearsal goes even slower, the whole class involved in the marriage dance, a high energy number that comes after the marriage, and before the first time. Sebastian and I watch, count beats, listen to Liona when she tells us where we fit in.. But I can't concentrate. I'm thinking about sneaking into the Royal Albert Hall. Suppose we get caught? Suppose I see.. Ryan? 

My stomach bubbles with hot anger, and I glance across at Sebastian, as if he can feel it. He's oblivious, joining Ali and Holly on the front row of dancers, and after a few moments trying to calm myself, I follow.

When we finally leave, we're exultant. Successful. The entire marriage scene is choreographed, and with less than a week left to go,  we only have a few key scenes left. Francois likes to cut it fine, leave it late. Sebastian convinces me to come to the cafe with my group, dipping down to kiss me on the cheek, and murmur in my ear. "We need to give them time to leave after rehearsal. The last thing we want is to run into any of them."

Like last night.

I sigh, and give a small smile of agreement. We head to the cafe, and Alex' father pops in, regaling us of his son's progress. He's out of bed. Eager to go home, though the doctors have warned against dancing, and tearing his stitching.

"Of course he's not bloody listening." Alex' father says, rolling his eyes, and we all laugh. The others look happier. Blondie looks like she might cry, and Holly laughs, putting an arm around her shoulders. 

 

We stay for a while longer and drain our teas, Sebastian and I having splashed out on bowls of pasta each, not planning on going home any time soon. The others file out steadily. Antoine and Ali get a cab home, conscious of the knife wielder. The girls get the tube in small groups, and eventually, it's just us left, and the sky outside is darkening.

"..Royal Albert Hall?" I ask, squeezing Sebastian's hand.

"Royal Albert Hall." He agrees resignedly.

 

\--

 

It's dark when we get there. 

 

The stage is flooded with darkness, the lights of the auditorium off, and we had to pick a lock to get in - another area of Sebastian's expertise. His fingers move lithely over a pin he found on the pavement, and we're inside within a few moments, marveling at the eerie silence of it all. Until we hear the voices.

 

I'm about to duck down, but Sebastian has it covered. He throws himself on top of me, bringing both of us to the floor and knocking the wind out of me. I hit at his chest silently, and he grins down at me, before pressing a muted kiss to my lips. We listen together, and my eyes widen a touch.

"..that's what you want?"

"It is what I want. It's a gauntlet. He's given himself up. I will not act yet."

It's Malone. Malone and Bogdanov. Oh Jesus Christ, I can't be here. 

I wriggle in my panic, but Sebastian pins me, shaking his head just once. 'Malone?' He mouths, and I nod frantically. He pins me harder, pressing his weight into me, and gives me a look. 'Calm down', he mouths and I close my eyes, taking a breath. What are the fucking odds? There's a roaring in my ears, but I force myself to listen. Malone sounds exasperated.

"I could have my men march in there tomorrow, and shoot him dead. I just don't see-"

"You will not." Bogdanov is firm. Cold. "That would be a sign of disrespect, Malone. And I don't think you want to show me disrespect."

Malone is quiet for a moment, and then says carefully. "I'm trying to help you, Abram."

"I do not require your help. The boy has given himself in. That is all we need."

"So you're just going to wait? Until what? Until he's in the middle of a crowded theatre, and you can't get to him? That just seems-"

"There will be ways." Bogdanov's voice is chilling. Calm. Malone falls silent, and then after a long pause, just sighs.

"..To hell with it, then. But if you change your mind, the offer still stands. A bullet to end your problems."

"I don't require your bullet for Sebastian." Bogdanov replies, with a withering mocking tone. "We do have our own."

The two men are still bickering as they walk along the aisles, and then head out of the door we came in from, and the slam echoes definitively through the hall. Sebastian rolls off me, and I take a gasping breath, sitting up. 

"Lump." I say, and thump him in the shoulder. He just laughs, quietly.

"Hey, I think I'm famous. Everyone wants to kill me."

"..Don't think that makes you famous. Hate to break it to you."

"Well, it makes me something."

"Yeah, I already told you that."

"What?"

"An arse."

He pushes me over again, the both of us laughing, though I'm rather relieved at the exchange we just heard, as frightening as it was. Bogdanov has warned Malone off himself. I don't have to go to him and try and convince him to stay hands-off until opening night. I wonder if he's heard about what happened. He must have - the training building will have fire damage. But he hasn't been in touch. Maybe someone fed him a fake story, not wanting to anger him about the attack on his 'favourite'. 

 

Ha. If only.

 

Sebastian takes my hand, and we head into the backstage area, though the whole damned place feels uneasy to me after what happened here. The stealthiest of the two of us, I pass Sebastian the key, and he heads off into the office as I keep watch outside. I feel guilty. Terribly, terribly guilty. I know that I shouldn't. I had to do it, to get out. God knows what would have happened if I'd refused anyway. But why haven't I told him? That makes me look guilty. But truth be told, I enjoy the peace. The comfort. The trust.

 

And this 'Ryan' is essentially Sebastian's brother.

 

I'm lost in my own thoughts, anxiety gnawing at me as I stand with my arms around my chest, and I almost miss Sebastian's quiet exclamation, his cursing. I turn back to look at him, and he rises slowly, eyes fixed on the pieces of paper in his hand - no.. one of them is a photograph.  I tilt my head at him, eager to know what it is that he's found - and if it's worth it. Worth what happened. What I did to keep that damned key. He walks over slowly, and I'm almost about to rip the damn things from his hands when he speaks slowly, quietly. Awed.

 

"..It's a list." 

He passes me the photograph, and it's old. Maybe from the nineties, going from what the people are wearing in it. Sparking crop tops, baggy jeans, coloured hair with middle partings, tongue rings and slouchy, ruffled cardigans. There's a slight glare from the lense, and when I turn it over, sure enough '1994' is written in the corner. I turn it back over. The most unique thing about it are the small numbers, drawn with black pen in the centre of each smiling person's forehead. They stand together, in a group. Not unlike Sebastian's own picture, but twenty years into the past. I glance at him, not understanding.

 

He's pale. Eyes still roaming down that 'list'.

 

Gently, carefully, I pry it from his fingers, and he lets me. On the list are numbers, 1 to 12, for the twelve people in the photograph. Beside each number, is a simple sentence. A name.

_1\. Margo. West London Cemetery. A: Coxon Diner in Cheshire.  
_   
_2\. Stavros. Holland Park, fifth tree from left. A: In bed with Natalia_

_3\.  Jacques. Garden of 63 Gate Ave. A: Brunch at the Crane and Rose.  
_  
They go on. And on, and on.

"There's more." Sebastian says hollowly. Numb. "In that drawer. It's a folder. Names. Photographs."

"Burial sites." I add quietly, nearly a whisper. He nods. He's stiff. He swallows. Trying to force himself to believe it. 

"'A' stands for 'Alibi'." He adds, hoarsely. He sits down on the edge of the desk, looking a little staggered. 

"..I think it does." I agree softly, anxious. 

"..I.. always wondered.. what happened." He murmurs blankly, haunted, fingers tightening on the photograph. Carefully, gently, I pry them apart again. "When we.. _they_.. got old."

"..And now we know."  My words are careful, quiet. Bogdanov is a monster. His most.. loyal. Killed.  For being above his peak age. When he himself is nearly.. seventy, he must be. It's unfair. It's not family. It's not even.. business, not really. Not good practice, at least. Betrayal. Loss. Lies. Murder.

Sebastian closes his eyes. He screws the list up in his fist.

\--

 

 

 


	19. Glissade

_Margo. Stavros. Jacques._

  
Their names flit through my mind all the way home - all twelve of them, and then the others. Sebastian took the whole folder, holds it on his knee on the tube ride like it's precious cargo. His face is thunder, but I squeeze his fingers, and he gives me a slightly morose smile back, and we ride in silence until we reach our stop. 

"You know.." I say, choosing my words with care, my voice soft. "..If you want to do right by them, we're already doing the right thing. Opposing him."

"I know." Sebastian agrees quietly, the folder in one hand as he squeezes my fingers with the other. "It's just.. a shock, you know?"

I nod. Undoubtedly.

He goes on. "..I knew a few of these. Sarah-Anne. Lukas.." He shakes his head, mouth turning down into a tight frown. "..I always wondered what happened to them."

"..What did Bogdanov say about them?" I ask gently, as he unlocks the door and lets us in. Our breakfast dishes still sit, stale on a tray on the bedsheets. A time before this revelation. 

"..That they'd gone back to their home countries." Sebastian answers, rather unhappily, as if just realising how badly he's been taken in. I frown with him, sympathising. "And some of them visited." He says. "I remember it. When I was younger. He can't have killed them all."

"Maybe he spared a few for that very reason." I offer quietly, and Sebastian closes his eyes. I kiss him on the cheek, and close the door behind us. 

"I'm sorry." I say. "I know this is hard."

"Impossibly hard." He agrees, teeth gritted. He blows out a slow, tense breath. "But I'm going to use it."

"Use it?"

Sebastian sits down on the edge of the bed, toeing off his shoes. Green eyes find mine, determined through ash blonde hair.

"The National is all he has. I'm going to take it from him."

 

\--

 

We come up with a plan.

 

It happens in bed, the two of us lying naked on top of the sheets, the night hot and humid and too many ideas buzzing around in our minds. We've had another day of rehearsal, and things are getting to the nitty gritty. My faked death. Romeo's real one. Francois wants the audience to cry, the scenes to be heartbreaking. He teaches me how to tip the poison into my mouth and then spit it - actually food colouring and lemonade, into an arch across the white blanket that we'll be laying on. Green. And then he shows us how to work our blood packets, to make them spurt over the white blankets too - all incorporated into dance. Hell, it's a lot to remember. Especially alongside the new plan.

 

The time seems to be flying away from us. A blur of sex, of dance, of scheming and of friends. Alex is out of hospital. He sits in at rehearsal, smiling and waving at us all, though when nobody is looking, he's morose. Sad. I'd be the same. To love to dance, to yearn to dance, and to be sat on the side. It's terrible. But he's alive. He's well. That's better than we thought we'd have. 

 

All at once, there are only three days left until opening night.  It's crept up on me. I'm scared, terrified, determined and excited all at once.

 

Today. Tomorrow. And then that's it. That's the night. The day after tomorrow, we take on the damned world.

\--

 

Excited titters pass through the class as Francois and Liona loop the room, handing each of us a costume. We've just rehearsed the final scene, and Jesus.. Liona started crying, and Holly ran up and hugged us afterwards, Samantha giving us the thumbs up from the corner, and waving with a pack of tissues. I suppose that's a good thing. We've been working on our agonized expressions, our slow, fleeting, lovelorn glances and our passionate moves. Only last night, we practiced a double arabesque in Sebastian's flat, and I extended just as high as he did. I was proud. He ruffled my hair, and stuck out his tongue. 

 

We're both covered with fake blood, and so Francois makes us go to the toilets to clean up before he'll give us our costumes, and we practically race there, Sebastian laughing as he closes the door in my face, leaving me to bang on it, much to the bemusement of passers-by. When he finally lets me in, he waits for me while I scrub my neck and hands, no hope for my ruined vest. We head back together, walking inside hand in hand - and forgetting that the others don't know we're together.

 

Ali gives a low, suggestive whistle. Holly's eyebrows shoot up into her hairline, and Tash mouths 'I told you' at Antoine. I sheepishly let go of Sebastian's hand, and they all laugh, Sebastian following behind me again to slide an arm around my side. I let him. Cautiously. 

 

Francois, having missed all of that, flounces back inside with the two bags, and unzips them. At this point, I'm just hoping that I don't have to wear a dress, so I'm pleasantly surprised at the jet black leggings, black ballet flats and long, white tunic, fitted and open in a long V at the neck, which will billow and show rather a lot of skin. All the better for the fake blood I suppose. Sebastian's costume is similar, but his tunic is black, open and billowing, and his leggings are white. We contrast. 

 

We take them eagerly, and compare our costumes with the others. There's a black and white theme, definitely. For the opposing families. Lots of billowing materials. I love it. Francois sends us to try them all on, and I return, laughing at myself, and running a hand down the part of Sebastian's chest that's exposed. Holly and Tash wear white too, and Blondie flounces between them in black, Montague versus Capulets. The fooling around in the clothes takes much of the rehearsal, and we have time for a quick run through of the final act at the end, before we're heading home for the day.

 

Sebastian and I walk down the corridor, forgoing our tea for once and planning to go out for dinner, dressed again in our normal vests and leggings. We're laughing, hands swinging between us, feeling happy for a change. No foreboding. No dread in the pit of our stomachs, though it won't be long until it returns. It's been a good day. A fruitful day. We're so close to the end now, and it might just work.

 

We reach the front steps, when I see him. It's Lewis. He stands with his fists clenched by his sides, dressed in his training blacks. A car idles not too far away, and I recognise the number plate. DJ. Sebastian notices them before me, and steps in front of me, a bitter smile sliding onto his lips as Lewis approaches us.

"I don't know what you're planning." Sebastian says, low and dangerous. "But I'd advise you to turn around now, unless you want to die. I can put you down before you hit the concrete."

"Put down your attack dog." Lewis mutters at me and I scowl back. Though after a moment, I step out from behind Sebastian, and squeeze his fingers, silently assuring him that I'm okay. He doesn't seem to listen, hovering close as I step closer to Lewis, my old friend's eyes resentful on me.  But strange. Almost.. pitying, somehow.

 

"What do you want?" I say warily, standing my ground. Lewis holds out a hand, unfurls his fingers. He reveals a piece of paper. I stretch out my own fingers to take it, and he slaps it against them, before turning and stalking off back to the car, though his eyes linger on mine for a moment. Sad. Regretful.  Neither Sebastian nor I move until he's gotten in the car and DJ drives away, both watching us the whole time.

 

And then I fumble with the paper, opening it and reading the neat scrawl inside.

 

_'James_

_It has come to my attention that considering your imminent performance as 'Julian' in Romeo and Julian at the Grand Hall, the star of which is also one Sebastian Moran, that you have not been entirely truthful about your activities whilst under my employ. My sources explain to me that you have not only been deceitful, but have proved harmful to your fellow recruits with this new friendship, encouraging him to attack them, and in two cases, kill. You have lost me two of my men, but most importantly, my trust in you._

I hope that you understand the seriousness of this matter. You are a long-serving and valuable recruit, but your insubordination knows no bounds. I have no choice but to terminate your contract, effective immediately. I trust that you know what this means.

Do not try to run. You know that we will find you.

You may have opening night, as a peace offering for your years of service.

I am saddened that we must part ways like this. I did think that you had such promise.

Regards, and condolences.

_Malone'_

 

Malone's signature is a tidy, calligraphed swirl, and I swallow, wordlessly passing the note to Sebastian. He folds it again carefully, and his words are quiet. I suddenly understand why Lewis looked at me with pity.

"We both knew that this was coming. After the posters. It was only a matter of time."

I close my eyes. "I know." I shake my head. "..But to have Lewis deliver it, too.."

"He would have done that on purpose."

"I know." I say again, morosely. Sebastian's arm slides around my waist. He hugs me close. We stand like that in the darkness for a few more minutes, the lights of the Grand Hall bright against the dark evening, flooding down the stone steps. The air has a slight chill, no longer the suffocating humidity of the past few days. Everything's changing.

 

So much for staying with the business for a while longer, until I could establish my own. Malone wants me dead. And he won't play around, not like Bogdanov. He's giving me my opening night as a gift, but I doubt I'll live to see the morning after, even if Sebastian does. Malone isn't theatrical. A bullet through the skull will do it for him, will satisfy him as my penance.

 

I don't say that to Sebastian. 

 

The dread settles in my chest again, tight and uncomfortable. The day after tomorrow. I share Sebastian's smiles, kiss his hands, let him lead me into the flat.

And we lock the door.

 

\--


	20. Tombé

Malone's warning keeps me awake, keeps me tossing and turning throughout the night, though Sebastian's arms slide around my waist and he holds me close. Well, we're in the same boat now at least.

 

Except that he has a plan. A way out. I have nothing.

 

'You have me', Sebastian said to me earlier, before we came to bed, his hands sliding into my hair, green eyes reassuring on mine. 

"I know." I replied, and slid my arms around his middle, and then stood on my tiptoes to press my mouth to his, the kiss slow and heated. 

"Malone won't touch you." He promised against my mouth, and I believed him. But laying here in the dark, held against his chest.. I don't want him to go up against them. Against Malone's company, against Bogdanov's company - why is everyone against us?

I slip into a fitful sleep, woken by the sun streaming through the windows, Sebastian not beside me. I sit up blearily, feeling surprisingly well rested, and watch him. He's dressed in just a pair of his leggings, turning and stepping, leaping and landing in soft silence. It's the marriage routine, I recognise it immediately, and I lean back against the headboard to watch him, never failing to be awed at his talents.

 

After a while, he catches me watching him and slows to a stop, giving me a grin, and running a hand through his hair. He saunters a little closer to the bed and extends his hand. I take it with a roll of my eyes, and climb from the sheets, just in my underwear. Just like that, he's drawn me against him, and we're dancing slowly, Sebastian's eyes warm on mine as he walks me back towards the wall. I turn under his arm, and then he pulls me to him again, and steps back until we're pressed against the wall.

 

His mouth is warm, fervent on mine, hands sliding up to cup my cheeks, breathing words of reassurance into my mouth.

"I need you to relax." He murmurs. "It's all going to be fine. I promise."

"You don't know that." I say back, between soft kisses, rolling my hips against him. His hands slide down, begin tugging at my underwear, and I shudder, letting him strip me bare. A moment later and his leggings join my underwear on the floor, and he's pressing hard against me, lifting me so that my back is against the wall, and my legs around his waist.

 

He carries me back to the bed. Throws me down, and I laugh breathlessly. In a few, gloriously short minutes, his fingers are slick inside me, and I'm moaning, arching my back, and then he's dragging me from the bed, mouth latching onto the skin of my neck. My back hits the wall again, and a gasp staggers from my lips, only to descend into a long and desperate groan as he presses himself inside me. He makes a low sound against the skin of my shoulder, an arm tight around my waist, keeping me upright as I wrap my legs around his back.

 

We start to move together, those low, pitiful sounds still dragged from me with each slow thrust, Sebastian's mouth warm and soft on mine. We fall into sync, and I tip back my head as he speeds up, the steady ruts of his hips against me clawing me closer to the edge. Neither of us last long. We needed this. We come with a frenzied roughness, Sebastian cursing desperately and slamming a hand into the wall, while I cry out, squeezing my eyes closed as I spill over between us.

 

"I'll look after you." He promises me, panting, his voice a low vow by my ear. We slowly slide down onto the wooden floor, and he takes me into his arms, resting his face in my hair. "..I love you." 

The words are so quiet, so low and breathless that I almost don't catch them. I look up at him. 

"I love you too." I say, a little surprised, and sheepishly, he laughs, hiding his face in my hair again.

 

\--

 

After a perfect morning, we head to ballet in the afternoon. Sebastian brought me bacon sandwiches in bed, and in return, I made the coffee. Good coffee, from the cafetiere. When we finally walk through the doors to the Grand Hall, it hits me that it's tomorrow. Opening night.

 

My hand tightens on Sebastian's as I take in the burly men, all struggling with various pieces of our stage or set, walking past the Romeo and Julian banners. My own face, giant, looks back at me, and I laugh nervously, Francois jumping on us from behind.

"Come, come! Not long now! You two need to be in rehearsal!"

He chivvies us along, and before I know it, the whole class is back in the basement, and we're going through a full costumed run-through, using the fake blood and poison, with added props - the balcony scenery, and  the few chairs and tables, swords, fences, that we have to dance around throughout.

 

It looks fantastic. 

 

After a short break, one of the technicians comes in and tells us that we can move to the Grand Hall stage, and we all muck in - carrying what we can, dismantling the balcony and then taking it all through to the stage together. My mouth drops open in nervous awe when I see it, and Sebastian squeezes me around the waist. It towers above us, a huge arch of a ceiling from which the lights are descended, the entire stage and back blanketed in black for our routine. Francois hurries Sebastian and I through to the back as the others help the technicians put everything back in place, and shows us a sofa, draped in white silks. Our death sofa.

 

"It's beautiful." I agree, "But how are you going to clean it every night ready for the next show? Wash the sheets?"

Liona intercepts, batting her hands. "We have purchased enough silk to line this hall fifteen times! We simply replace it."

"Smart thinking." Sebastian quips, and then lifts me up and sits me down on it, smirking at me. 

"You look good there, Juliet."

  
"It's Julian." I correct with a mock haughty tone, and he ruffles my hair, Francois rolling his eyes and mincing off to help with the set up. Liona busies herself with pushing the sofa onstage as I climb up, and I step closer to Sebastian, ready to kiss him - when we're interrupted by a smiling woman from the reception desk. I've seen her before. She always looks bored.

"I have a message at reception." She says loudly, looking through the group, heads popping up curiously. "It's for somebody named 'Rich'."

\--

 

Ice drips into my stomach. My heart leaps into my throat, and I blink at the woman, the rest of the team looking around blankly at one another.

"Yep." I say after a few horrorstruck seconds, trying to sound nonchalant, though I squeak. "That's me."

The others frown at me, shake their heads and then look away. But Sebastian's eyebrows pull together, a wrinkle of bemusement between them. "What?"

"My mother used to call me Rich." I lie smoothly, though the panic saturates my words, and he frowns at me.

"..Shit." He agrees, and then laces our fingers. "Want me to come with you?"

I shake my head hurriedly. "God, no,"

Sebastian gives a wry smile, but then releases my hand and nods, walking backwards to join the others. "Here if you need me." He says, obviously not wanting to let me go alone. But it's my mother. What harm can she do?

 

Except it isn't my mother. And I've only ever used that name once.

 

I smile tightly at the receptionist, and she leads me back upstairs. Sure enough, chocolate brown eyes glare at me somewhat triumphantly from in front of the desk, and there's a roaring in my ears. He'll kill me. 

 

\--

 

The moment the receptionist leaves us, he speaks, walking slowly towards me. His eyes are livid, almost unrestrained. The rest of him is sauntering lazily, without a care in the world. 

"Well, well.." Ryan drawls. "We meet again,  _Rich._ I'm surprised you even came up to see me." 

 

I just look back at him, my fists clenched. I want to hit him. I want to hurt him. I feel violated. My cheeks flare, hot.

"You see, little dancer." He goes on, words teasing, taunting. He's circling me slowly, and when I glance nervously to the side, I notice that the receptionist has gotten up again, and is walking away. Leaving us. No witnesses. "I was very surprised when I saw that pretty face of yours up there on those banners, right next to my Sebastian's. My brother's."

An indignant, withering smile flits over my lips at 'my Sebastian.' I think he was expecting some kind of soap opera gasp, some realisation of the connection. He stops in front of me, irritated, with a mock pout at my amusement.

 

"..Oh, sweetheart. Don't tell me. You think he's yours now?" He laughs harshly, cold. "You wouldn't believe the amount of girls he's fucked over the years. Probably a few boys, too. What makes you think you're special?"

"What do you want, Ryan?" I ask bluntly, folding my arms across my chest. 

"What were you doing?" He spits right back, his anger emerging, violent and sudden. "Rooting around in that office? Looking for intel? To save your little company? To copy our dances?"

I laugh, loud in his face. "We don't need to copy  _you_." I hiss. "..We're  _better._ "

"You don't know who you're playing with, little boy." He breathes back, and I hear a click. The click of a blade sliding into place. On the penknife he holds in his right hand, down by his side.  

 

He thinks I don't know about the National. About them being killers. About Sebastian being one of them.

 

Which means he's just here for revenge.

 

I swallow.

"I know he has a tiny cock." I whisper back, defiant.

 

He acts suddenly. Harshly. His arm flies out, smashing into my cheek, knocking me back and onto the floor as he lunges wildly with the knife, though I kick out at him from where I lay. 

"You don't -" He's yelling, kicking at me, pain lashing my sides, though I'm just thankful that it isn't the knife. "Hurt me - and - get - away with - it." 

 

I roll out of his reach, drag myself up gasping just as the receptionist comes back. Ryan's eyes fall on her for a moment, and then he lunges at me, seemingly deciding that he doesn't care. All at once, a hard body is between us. Wearing his costume. Pushing the idiot back roughly, and then turning to run his hands down my sides, his expression raging and anxious.

"Are you alright?" Sebastian asks me sternly, and I nod, panicking. He can't be here. He can't be here right now. I'll take the beating that I deserve, but I won't risk him finding out - I can't lose him. Not when we've made it so far.

 

"What the fuck are you doing here, Ryan?" Sebastian booms, furious, rounding on Ryan as he climbs to his feet, still holding his knife extended. "Opening night. I fucking gave myself in. If fucking Bogda-"

"Bogdanov didn't send me." He spits, eyes venomous, a slow smile beginning on his lips. He jabs the knife in my direction. "I came for him. He needs a beating, Sebastian. I should have known he was fucking working with you!" He gives a bleat of wild, bitter laughter.

"He broke in of his own volition." Sebastian says coldly. "Though you're right. I'd do it myself, if it meant it would cause you a little inconvenience."

 

Sebastian slowly takes my hand, runs his thumb over my knuckles, and Ryan's eyes drop to our entwined hands, that smile broadening into something huge and disbelieving, until he's laughing, utterly beside himself, nearly bent double. He pats the knife hilt on his knee in his jest, and Sebastian watches him, unimpressed, a nerve ticking in his jaw.  The manic laughter at our expensive rings out, loud and echoing in the foyer. His hand tightens on mine.

"..Something funny?" He asks at last, stiff.  
,   
"Just wait until you know why I'm here." Ryan drawls, grinning as he straightens, and taking a long breath before laughing breathlessly again. My cheeks burn. I make to drag Sebastian back down the hall.

"Come on." I say. I plead. "He can't do anything. Bogdanov won't allow it, you know that. Let's-"

"You're here to try and ruin my chances." Sebastian says, firmly. "To hurt my partner, and  ruin my opening night."

"Let's go, Sebastian.." I beg, trying to push him, but he won't budge.

Ryan steps closer, that venomous smile still on his lips. He flicks up his knife and catches it, and then with a jab of the blade in my direction, remarks with an amusedly defiant;

"I'm here because your little  _boyfriend_  sucked my cock."


	21. Soubresaut

There's a roaring in my ears the moment the words are out of Ryan's mouth, and I feel sick, my palms hot and my heart slamming in my chest. I watch Sebastian, watch him blink at Ryan, and then a disbelieving smirk slide across his face. He looks at me, about to make some remark. I can hear it already.. Don't flatter yourself Ryan, in your dreams, you're fucking crazy - but he catches sight of my expression, and instantly, that smile freezes, and then slowly, heartbreakingly, slides from his lips.  
  
"..Sebastian.." I try, my words quiet and pleading, holding up my hands, but his gaze has left me. He's staggered back, away from me. His expression twists, contorting into rage, betrayal, disbelief, unhappiness..

 

It settles on anger.

 

He throws himself at Ryan with a roar, and knocks the other man right over, the two of them slamming down onto the marble floor, kicking and punching, the fight like nothing I've ever seen before. Expert. They dodge and weave, Ryan landing a few hits too, though to my relief, that knife goes skittering across the floor. Sebastian is going for the kill, his arm wrapped around Ryan's neck as he wriggles, turning left and right, beating at Sebastian's sides with his fists, his feet, even attempting to bite him. It all happens in a matter of seconds, and I rush towards them, trying to pull Sebastian off, screaming at them to stop.

 

I don't care if Ryan gets hurt.

 

But if he kills him, Sebastian is facing prison, with the receptionist as a witness. And if Ryan hurts Sebastian.. then he's facing me.

 

I'm pushed back harshly onto the floor, not sure by whom, and fall with a smack onto my hands and knees, scrambling back up immediately to shriek and get between them, suddenly five, six or more people there with me. Ali, Antoine, a fragile Alex, Tash, Blondie, Samantha and Holly all stand between them, and Samantha hurries over, helping me up with a concerned frown. Sebastian and Ryan stand at odds, Ryan putting no weight on one foot, with his arms across his stomach and swelling already over one eye. Sebastian just has a cut lip.

 

They pant, staring each other down, Ryan with a hint of smug amusement. Sebastian is enraged. 

"..Seb.." I croak, and take a step towards him. He turns his head to the side, and spits blood at my feet. Samantha tugs me back quickly, frowning. My eyes feel hot, and I'm blinking back the tears, determined not to let it out here.

"You get out of my sight." He hisses at Ryan, still not acknowledging me, and Ryan stares back, hint of a grin on his lip. Ali and Antoine step in front of him, and he finally leaves, backing away slowly before turning, sauntering out of the doors and sticking up his middle finger to us all before he disappears around into the carpark. I hope he dies. I hope I never see him again.

"..I think we should all just calm down.." Holly says carefully, and Samantha slowly loosens her grasp on my shoulder. Sebastian doesn't seem to have heard her, his eyes fixed murderously on the marble, perfectly still, that muscle jumping in his jaw again. The sight scares me. He scares me. Losing him, scares me.

"Sebastian.." I say, quietly, shakily. I edge closer. "It's not what you think.."

"And what do I think, Jim?" He fires back, low and thrumming with anger, still not looking at me. I swallow, eyes flitting to our friends. Oh God, not them. I don't want them to know about it. 

"..I had.. I had to do it." I say pathetically, and it sounds ridiculous to my own ears. Weak. Sebastian rounds on me, and I flinch away, the boys stepping closer anxiously. Samantha's hand tightens on my shoulder again.

"You didn't have to do  _anything."_  He near yells at me, his voice strained, raging. He jabs a finger at me. "You didn't have to fucking do that, and you didn't have to go anywhere, or try and fucking help. Because you think _this_ helps?"

He laughs, loud and sarcastic, and I wince at the sound. I open my mouth to reply but he's still going, getting closer, Samantha trying to tug me backwards. Antoine and Ali step closer cautiously, ready to pull him back. But he won't hit me. I almost wish he would.

"You lied to me, Jim. You fucking lied, and then you lied again, and you just keep lying. It's what you do." I frown at that, and he's grimacing at me, anger and hurt glittering in his eyes. "You lied to your Boss about dance. You lied to your flatmates about it, too. And you lie to these friends about your past, and about.. even about us, for fuck's sake. It's all you know how to do."

He shakes his head, and I squeeze my eyes shut for a moment, before I'm shaking my head, my eyes wet as I reach for him, but he recoils from me like I'm diseased. 

"You lie. You pretend. You cover up. It's all you _do."_

"Sebastian, please.." My voice is a pathetic whine, his words stinging me, burning me, leaving gaping holes where they tear, acid-like at my skin. I feel the eyes of them all on me, not understanding his words, confused about 'Boss' and 'past'. I reach for him again, but he steps back and shakes his head. He laughs, the same bitterly sarcastic sound.

"You know what?" He hisses. "You'll make a fantastic Boss one day."

And with that, he turns, snatches up his bag, and leaves the foyer. I try to go after him, but Samantha holds me fast, and Antoine puts a hand on my shoulder and shakes his head once. 

"Let him go, Jim." Blondie says quietly. 

 

I screw my eyes shut, so not to see him leave.

 

\--

 

"I'm sure he'll come around."

It's three hours after Sebastian stormed out of the Grand Hall, and I still can't think about any of it without having to look away from whoever I'm speaking to. Right now, it's Holly. I'm in Ali's flat, and she and Samantha are here, though from what I gather, Samantha practically lives here anyway. They convinced me to come back here, rather than to go back to Sebastian's. Told me that he probably needed some time. Antoine popped back, and returned with some of my clothes, folded in a pile. He tells us that Sebastian passed them to him in the doorway, and then slammed the door in his face.

 

I sit with my knees to my chest on Ali's sofa, with three cold cups of tea on the coffee table. I'm not sure why - they just keep bringing them to me. Ali stands at the stove, enthusiastically talking about the pasta he's cooking, I suppose in an attempt to get me to eat some. I don't want any. I don't want anything. This is so messed up. Sebastian doesn't even know why I.. did it. I wonder if it would even matter.

 

Ryan's smug face. My speechless gawping. His embarrassment, his anger. His betrayal. It cycles through my mind, and I fist my hands in my hair, screwing my eyes shut. Holly gently pries my fingers free. A bowl of pasta and a fork is pressed into them instead, and I sigh, looking pointedly at the three hopeful faces.

"I'm not hungry."

"You're our principal, Jim. You have to eat. Tomorrow's opening night." Samantha's words are falsely chirpy, excited, and the fact just reminds me. I don't even know if our plan's still going ahead. I hope so. Though right now, I wouldn't put it past him to go straight to Bogdanov himself. Maybe he'll get back in with them somehow. Blame the whole thing on me. I don't think I'd even mind that, if he was happy.

 

But he won't.

 

Hell, it's more likely that he'll just turn himself in. 

 

Even if he doesn't, even if we dance tomorrow and the plan is carried off.. he despises me now. My life will still be one without him, and the thought is morose and grey. He shouldn't matter to me as much as he does. Not after so short a time together. But fuck.. he does. Of course he does. I've never met anyone like him.

 

I'll go to Malone, tomorrow night. I think that's fair. It's my just desserts. For all of this. 

"He's punishing himself again." Holly remarks wryly, and I elbow her, giving the shadow of a smile when she laughs.

"That's more like it." Ali says, and then leans over the back of the sofa, frowning at my full dish. "What is it? My pasta not good enough for a principal?"

I roll my eyes and eat a few forkfuls, and he grins. Samantha breathes a low sigh of relief. A few minutes pass, and I manage to get halfway through the bowl before I set it down. Almost before I've finished, another hot cup of tea is pressed into my hands, and I speak for the first time in hours, my voice small.

"..Stop fucking coddling me."

They all laugh, and Holly sits down on the other side of me, Ali leaving and returning to hand the girls a bowl of pasta each. The three of them eat, glancing at me every so often, until Ali says at last;

"..Do you wanna talk about it?"

I shake my head. A moment later, I take a sip of my tea. 

"Are you sure?" Samantha says, gently. "It might make you feel better."

"Did you cheat on him?" Holly asks bluntly, and both Ali and Samantha hit her hard in the arms, and she exclaims, before swearing at them both. "Ow! Fuck - what? That's what it sounded like."

"It's complicated." I stay stiffly. "I didn't mean to."

"..Were you assaulted?" Samantha asks me, horrified, abandoning her pasta for a moment. I think, and then sigh.

  
"..No."

She nods slowly, and Ali looks confused. Holly shrugs, spooning more pasta into her mouth. "Shit happens." She summarises eloquently, and I choke out a laugh, much to her glee. The three of them keep eating, and I take small sips of my tea, just trying not to think about it. We have a full rehearsal tomorrow before the show. I can talk to him then. Make him see. Make him believe me. He has to believe me. 

 

He said he loved me.

 

The reminder is a wrench in my chest, and my eyes find my tea again, drinking slowly, concentrating on not burning my tongue. I can't fucking think about that. Not after what he said to me, how he looked at me.. 

"Jim.." Holly begins cautiously, and Ali shakes his head at her vehemently from behind me, miming a cutting motion beneath his neck. He thinks I can't see. I roll my eyes.

"Oh, here we go.." Samantha says, a little resignedly. I look at Holly and raise an eyebrow, and she continues.

"..What did he mean? ..Sebastian. About.. a Boss? And.. the past? What.. is it that you did, before you came to us?"

"I really don't think this is the time.." Ali says with false brightness, but I shake my head.

"It's fine, Ali." I say tiredly. My hands encircle my mug. "..It's complicated."

I suppose it's fair that they should know. At least something, anyway. Tomorrow is their opening night too, after all. To be in the know, is to be in less danger. Perhaps they can try and stay safe, stay away from sketchy men in black in the audience. Know who not to let backstage. 

 

I choose my words carefully.

 

"..Sebastian and I.. both have.. people after us." J say slowly. "..Previous employers."

Samantha and Ali frown, listening intently. Holly tilts her head, and says "Bogdanov?"

All three of us look at her, and my mouth drops open a little. "..You know about Bogdanov?" I ask with dubious surprise. She shrugs.

"I thought everyone knew he was in the mafia."

"He's not in the mafia." Samantha scoffs, rolling her eyes, and Ali points at Holly.

"I  _have_ heard that!"

"He's kind of in the mafia." I agree, looking apologetically at Samantha. She leans back where she sits with a quiet "..Fuck," in shock.

"..And he's after you?" Holly asks, a frown on her lips as she sets down her empty bowl. 

"After Sebastian." I say. "And the whole of the fucking.. National. There's a different one after me. Both on.. opening night, actually." I wave a hand, like it doesn't matter. Ali blinks at me, his face a mask of horror.

"You have mafia guys after you." He says slowly, "And you're not even bothered?"

"..Not anymore." I say quietly, almost a whisper. All three of them give some kind of wince. The tea is forced back into my hands. Silence falls for a few minutes, and then at last, Holly stands, shaking her head.

"Well, we have to do something." She says firmly. "Come up with a plan."

I shake my head. "I don't-"

"Nobody is ruining my damned opening night." She says, and points a finger at me. A ghost of a smile flits across my lips. 

"..There's already a plan." I confess. "Or at least, there was. I don't know what Sebastian's.." I swallow, and then take a sip of tea. The others nod, and Samantha rubs my back.

"..For both of them? They're both coming on opening night?"

"The plan is just for Bogdanov."

"..So what about the other one?"

I don't say anything. I sip at my tea, eyes falling to the hot liquid, and Ali gets it before anyone else does, swearing beneath his breath.

"He's going to turn himself in." He informs the others indignantly, as if telling a teacher about a naughty child. I could chuckle into my tea, if it wasn't so fucking dire. I'm pathetic. I know that. 

"He'll get me anyway." I say resignedly. "There's no point running. Or putting it off.  I might as well just get it over with."

"And this of course, has nothing to do with the argument that you and Sebastian had tonight." Holly remarks sarcastically, and I shoot her a look.

 

Samantha pats me on the back. "I hate to say it, Jim. But she's right. You can't just lie down and die."

I said that to Sebastian once. 

 

I smile back, small and resigned. I sit, nodding as they come up with a plan. It takes hours. All night. We sit up into the early hours, Ali providing a steady stream of tea, coffee, biscuits and cheese toasties. Holly and I sleep on the living room sofas. I appreciate the help, I really do. I don't know what I'd do without this lot.. It's mad, our worlds so different. Our end goals. But right now, I suppose I do need them.

 

But their plan means nothing to me. Not really.

 

Malone wants me. And he'll have me.

 

Just a matter of time. And not much of it, at that.

 

\--


	22. Piqué

Waking up the next morning is a crippling ambush of emotions. I'm warm, cosy, covered with something soft, and for a few moments with my eyes closed, it's all too easy to believe that I'm in Sebastian's bed. In his arms, or curled up in the duvet, waiting for him to bring us breakfast. The good coffee. Pastries that he's bought from the shops, as a treat for opening night breakfast.

 

Opening night.

 

That's the thought that pries open my eyes, and I blink myself awake properly, my heart sinking in my chest as I find myself tangled in blankets on Ali's sofa. Holly is asleep on the sofa opposite, her mouth open and one arm lolling down onto the floor. I sit up and rub my eyes.

 

 The memory of yesterday stabs me in the chest, and I'll never get to sleep again. The wall clock confirms that it's 8 am. We have our final day of rehearsals beginning at ten anyway. 

 

The final day. It sums things up quite nicely. Even if by some miracle, Malone doesn't kill me tonight, I'll still just take my ten grand and run. Start up something small, to begin with. 

 

Maybe I can even win DJ and Lewis back. Lewis seemed reluctant enough to hand me that note. 

 

I don't even care about the money anymore. It doesn't excite me like it did before, doesn't put a thrill in my chest for the future, for what I might become. But one thing is for sure, and that's that I certainly can't stay here anymore. Not without him.

 

I'll make sure he's okay. And then I'll go on my merry way. Be it into Malone's clutches, and my deserved death, or to a new start that I don't want. But I'll go, nevertheless.

 

I head around the flat, gently waking up my class mates, pressing hot drinks into sleepy hands like they did for me last night. It's the least that I owe them.

 

Let's get this over with.

 

\--

Sebastian doesn't turn up, and Francois is frantic. 

 

He calls him on his mobile two, three, four times, before I tell him quietly that he won't be coming. I don't know why I expected that he would. To dance like lovers, so soon after yesterday.. 

 

But he'll be there tonight. I'm sure of it.

 

 Tonight is his future, securing his life, not to mention getting paid his ten thousand pounds. Even if he's leaving too - and the thought sends an ache through my chest - he'd be mad to leave without the money. 

 

"We can rehearse without him." Blondie says defiantly, and Francois looks at her like she's crazy, his face a picture of anxiety, incredulity and despair. 

 

"We cannot rehearse without one principal!" He bellows back, and Alex steps forward, pushing Antoine at me. 

 

"Yes we can." He says with decisive confidence. Little Alex. Still bandaged at the waist. Francois' angry resolve wavers. Alex stands firm, and Antoine shrugs, nodding as the others fold their arms and raise their eyebrows, supporting the decision.

 

 A few tense seconds pass, and then Liona pipes up, already loading our songs onto the speaker system.

 

"We rehearse." She says boldly. "Sebastian will join us later." She waves a hand. "Jim knows. I trust Jim."

 

A few of the others nod vehemently, but Holly and Samantha look at me uncertainly. I hold Francois' gaze for a few moments, and swallow. With another frustrated sigh, he nods, and we're instantly a flurry of activity - changing into costumes, heading up and onto the stage, warm ups already in motion. It would be cruel to let them down on my account. Not after all those rehearsals. All we've been through together.

 

Just one night. One flawless show, for them. The audience on their feet for my friends. For the Blue Ribbon Company.

 

Sebastian despises me. But he won't let them down. 

 

\--

 

The rehearsal goes brilliantly, even with the few mistakes that Antoine makes. Ali would be better, but he's playing Tybalt and can't chase and kill himself. Antoine is Mercutio, and Alex stands in - albeit very carefully - for Sebastian's bit in that scene. 

 

The loved up sections with Antoine are a little awkward, granted, but we get through them. The same fire isn't there, that same passion, the love and lust and hopeless longing.

 

But we get through the show. The technical rehearsal is perfect. It's all perfect.

 

His absence is glaring.

\--

The hours tick away. Tick, and tick, and tick. Every time I look at the clock, it's a little bit closer to seven thirty, and my heart gives an uneasy stutter in my chest. We run through again. We double check our CDs, our lights, our props and our costumes. 

 

Holly, Samantha and Ali pull me aside, and after a few moments, Tash, Blondie, Antoine and Alex join us. They all look fantastic. The girls have their makeup done - dramatic sweeps of black and white over their eyes, with false lashes. The costumes are perfect, bold and contrasting. I straighten mine self-consciously, and run a hand through my hair.

 

 Their sheepish gazes tell me that Sebastian and my troubles have been shared with the group.

 

"I'm sorry Jim." Holly says, when I groan. "We had to. They deserve to know, and they can help."

 

"We've put the whole National in the circle." Ali informs me seriously, something thrumming through his words that might be excitement. "One row back. They can't move during the performance without seriously upsetting the front row and fourth row, and we'll notice from the stage. We can take measures."

 

"..And my guy?" I ask, a little resignedly. Even if I ask them not to scheme, they will. They know Sebastian's plan already - the one we decided before the fall out. Before my mistakes. But as far as I know, nothing is in place for Malone. He's given me tonight. I'm probably safe until the second the show is over. Hell, I wouldn't put it past him to have someone shoot me in my final bow to the audience.

 

"Someone's gonna be with you all the time." Tash says firmly. "One of us."

 

"..It doesn't matter." I say, before trying to make my voice a touch gentler. "..He won't care about witnesses. He'll just-"

 

Wordlessly, Tash pulls a knife from her pocket. Ali does too. They all do. I gawp back at them, a half stutter leaving my lips after a few moments. "..What..-?"

 

"If they want one of us, they'll have to take all of us." Blondie says defiantly, and Holly presses a knife into my hand too, complete with elastic bands fastened to the hilt. After a moment, I realise that they're there to keep the knife hidden up against my calf, covered by the lycra leggings. 

 

"And you're all okay with this?" I say dubiously. "Carrying.. knives?" I shake my head. "They won't do anything against-"

 

"We've got two security guards on the entrance." Samanths quips, folding her arms over her chest. "Alex' dad heard there might be trouble, and drafted in some friends. He won't risk Alex getting hurt again. They're searching on arrival."

 

I glance at Alex, and he smiles a little embarrassedly. "..He works in the airport."

 

No guns can get in. The most they can bring is a concealed knife, like us. Well. Maybe, just maybe, I'll get out of this alive.

 

"As soon as tonight's show is over," Samantha goes on, "We're going to the police. We'll go with you Jim, but you can't have this hanging over you. And we can't  be on constant lookout every night. And when you go home, too. We can all go together."

 

I nod with a tight smile. I have no intention of going to the police. But it might help me survive the night.

 

\--

 

The buzz of the audience starts up outside at seven, and I'm sitting down at the side of the stage, tying that knife above my ankle, and then pulling my legging down over it. Liona comes over, her fingers smeared with makeup, and takes a brush to my face, painting black in a thick line over my eyes. She doesn't seem panicked, and I frown up at her, my voice small.

 

"..Do you think he'll come?"

 

She blinks back at me, a little surprised, putting away her brushes. "..He arrived ten minutes ago. You didn't know?"

 

I'm on my feet before she's even finished, pacing around nervously and looking for him. In the wings, backstage, in the bar, in the toilets and changing rooms.

 

 The curtain is down, and we're constrained to this one area. The set looks fantastic. I find him in the back, rigging up the last part of our plan. Putting on the finishing touches, hidden behind the curtain. He's facing away.

 

"..Sebastian.."

I say tentatively, and his back stiffens, the muscles tensing. 

 

He's already in full costume, and when he turns slowly, that black smear is across his own eyes too, his hair falling into them.  His gaze is wary, unhappy, but not hateful. Not raging. I stand, rubbing my hands nervously on my leggings, and he climbs down with a few graceful steps from his step ladder.

 

"Nervous?" He asks me bluntly, as if none of it has happened. I blink at him in surprise.

 

"..Are you?" I ask uncertainly, and he shakes his head. His eyes fix on mine.

 

"Not about the performance."

 

I nod and look down, and we fall silent. Holly and Blondie's excited voices float past, and we glance up. I fold my arms over my chest, feeling odd. It's unnatural, this forced civility. Horrible. I wish he was shouting at me. 

 

"Was it your idea to put knives on them?" He asks me with an arched eyebrow, and I shake my head.

 

"They know. Kind of."

 

"They think the mafia is after us."

 

"Who said that?"

 

"Tash."

 

I give a small smile, nod again. Silence falls, and I shift uncomfortably on my feet for a moment. His eyes find the curtain behind me, and the unspoken things are thick between us. I crack first.

 

"..I wish you'd let me explain." I croak, quiet. He closes his eyes, his expression drawn. 

 

"I'm not sure I want to know." His words are slow, morose.

 

"It wasn't like that.. It wasn't like anything." I begin, my words a touch pleading again, though I remain a little dignity, my tone calm, quiet. Sebastian purses his lips, eyes still closed in resignation. He's hurting. I can't stand it. "..I had the key. I needed to get out. He thought I was.. some.. fan.. It was my only chance."

 

"You could have pushed him off." Sebastian says, words stiff, looking away.

 

"I did." I say, quickly. "I did. As soon as he looked away, I pulled him down, kicked him in the balls.. I ran."

 

He nods, biting the inside of his cheek. I try again, desperate.

 

"I didn't even.. think about you.. I just.. I needed to get out, to get the key. For you."

 

"You did it for me, but you didn't think about me?" He says, raising an eyebrow. My own words sound stupid repeated back to me, and I shake my head vehemently, running my hands exasperatedly through my hair.

 

"That isn't what I-"

 

"What are you trying to say, Jim?" He says, flat and hard. He throws up his hands. I wince at the definitiveness of it.

 

"I'm _sorry_." 

 

The word is heartfelt, ragged, and I step forward, reaching for him. He stills. I continue, wrapping my fingers around his wrists. "I got it wrong. I.. did. I made a mistake. I didn't think."

 

"You made a good business decision." He points out, the words cold and wry.

 

"But I didn't make a good  _us_  decision." I say back almost immediately, the words slipping from me without even having to think about it. He nods, pursing his lips. 

 

"..You can say that again."

 

The words are disgruntled, but they're not hateful. He.. he might be coming round. Maybe there's hope. Maybe there's the tiniest chance.. He snaps back just as quickly, with three despairing words.

 

"My  _brother_ , Jim.."

 

I close my eyes, and shake my head. "I know." I say quietly. "I do. I know. And I can't tell you how sorry I am. It's tearing me apart. But I did what I had to. To get out. To get the key. I'm sorry, and I love you, and if you don't want to see me again-"

 

"Shut up."

 

The words intercept mine harshly, and my heart drops for a moment, but then his mouth is on mine, urgent and yet soft, a slightly hesitant hand drawing me to him. 

 

"..Ok." I murmur hopelessly against his lips. He pulls back, his eyes still a touch uneasy, and then kisses me again on the forehead this time, before resting his face in my hair.

 

"We'll get through tonight." He promises quietly. Softly, even. My heart skitters. "And then we'll talk."

 

I nod. He kisses the top of my head, and lingers for a moment, before walking away. Taking his place on the other side of the stage. I blink, realising that the hum of the audience has gotten louder.

 

 They're seated. It's half past seven. 

 

Curtain up.

 

 

\--

 


	23. Effacé

The music blares, impossibly loud, and the lights are hot and blinding, my heart suddenly in my chest as my classmates dart past me, dancing out onto the stage for the opening speech, their moves bouncy and energetic, an immediate smatter of applause from the audience. 

 

That puts me at ease a little, and I take a breath, finding Sebastian's eyes across the stage as we wait for our cue.

 

His smile is small, tight, but it's there. He's trying.

 

 The words are spoken, eerie and breathy over a track. He winks. We dance out.

_"..Two houses.."_

_"Montague and Capulet.."_

_"Never was a story of more woe.."_

 

I risk glances at the audience as we join our classmates, our movements slow and haunting, telling of what is to come. Enthralled faces look back at me, excited smiles and a sea of heads, of faces turned towards us.

 

 The scene changes, and I flit from the stage, time for Sebastian and his Montague boys, and I peek out from behind the curtain, sure that I can see Bogdanov. He's out there, somewhere.

 

I help Liona straighten the props table in my few minutes off stage, adrenaline pounding through my bloodstream. It all happens tonight. It's opening night. The show is on, now. It's exciting, terrifying and I can't think. My hands fumble on the retractable plastic dagger, the luminous green poison, the fake blood as thickly red as fresh cherries. I straighten the white sheets on the sofa, help make sure the balcony set is stable, and then she's pushing me back on stage for my scene with the girls - my 'nurse', 'wife-to-be' and 'mother'.

 

I spin and step with them, spurning Holly's advances and throwing myself into dramatic falls, into jetes away from them all, and the scene seems to fly past in seconds, ending with them dragging me from the stage by the arms, off to the 'party'. No time to go backstage.

 

I'm back on again, and my heart thumps in my chest as Sebastian and I circle our classmates, their party dancing something special indeed - perfectly synchronised stepping and pirouetting, lifts and glides, extensions that purposely block my path, and Sebastian's. 

 

We do the meet. The fall in love. The realisation. 

 

I catch sight of Francois from the side of the stage, grinning at us, his hands clasped anxiously at his chin as he watches. I think of that very first rehearsal. My clumsiness. Sebastian's tension. We've come so far. 

 

The fall in love, once our weakest, is now our strongest part of the scene. He drags me, chases me, we fall and rise together, that side by side jete attracting a small smattering of applause. He lifts me, lets me slide down his body. We do the dip, my ankle on his shoulder, and when he spins me back up, he kisses me again.

Like he did that time in rehearsal. But more. It means more. His lips are soft, urgent under the hot lights, and my own part for him, but there isn't enough time to do this properly. 

 

We spring apart again for the realisation, and soon after, dance away from the stage, readying for the group dance and then the balcony scene.

 

Liona and Francois both help to push the balcony on, carefully, quickly, whilst the rest of the group finish the party dance in front. I swing myself up onto the scaffolding, and then Sebastian and I are beginning again - cavorting around together, lifts and falls and throws, Sebastian catching me as I throw myself into his arms from the scaffolding. 

 

My arms find his neck, and we're spinning together, and then I'm twisted, legs around his waist and arms extended. 

 

The scene ends with another passionate slide of our bodies, mine dipping down beneath his legs and sliding along the floor, before I'm up again in an arabesque into a plie, additional set added for the marriage scene. The group dance is the biggest here,  and Sebastian and I watch breathless from backstage,  having run there with his fingers curled around mine. I've barely had a moment to think, to get my bearings - and I still don't.

 

We flounce back out to get married, and it's the most joyous of all the dances - bounding and throwing, our expressions exultant - falling into the sensual sex scene as the rest of the group flits from the stage, leaving us in a pool of red light. 

 

Sebastian crawls over me, and I lift a leg, hook it lightly around his neck and use it to pull him to me. We kiss lightly, and his hands drag along my torso, lifting himself to his knees and then back to his feet, my legs still around his neck. We turn, and I flip backwards, lightly into his arms, and then he turns me, hands running down my sides, his mouth at my neck, real shivers running through me. 

 

We end the scene, both of us panting, Sebastian's billowing shirt opened, him atop me on the sofa on which we'll later die. Sensual. My eyes don't leave his mouth. A shadow of his smirk returns.

 

Rapturous applause.

 

The interval.

 

\--

 

"Fantastic! Fantastic!" Francois trills, slapping us on the back as Liona passes us bottles of water, and then works on refastening Sebastian's billowing top, "We have only ten minutes for interval. Go and sit down, Liona will rub your feet."

 

"Liona will not!" Liona scoffs, and I laugh, breathless. 

 

Sebastian leads us to a large flat box, and we sit down, the adrenaline still pounding through me. It's mad, out there. The lights, the audience, remembering each move mechanically and then trying to remember to feel, on top of it all.. 

 

The others rush over to us, Holly throwing her arms around my shoulders. "You're amazing!" She shrieks, and I laugh, Tash grinning at me, and Samantha handing over towels to mop our sweating faces. 

 

"Are you two back together now then?" Antoine asks bluntly, and I give a sheepish smile, looking away. Sebastian doesn't answer either. There's work to be done. But maybe. There's a chance. And I've never felt happier. 

 

Liona calls them back to help, and the lot of them disappear to help pull off the balcony, and spread the sofa with those piles and piles of white silk. 

 

"Are we?" I ask shyly. "..Back together..?"

 

"Don't push it." Sebastian tells me, but then a moment later, presses a hesitant kiss to my cheek. I smile. It's good enough.

 

All too soon, the end of interval bell rings out, and Sebastian disappears with another squeeze of my fingers, his scene first, and beginning around the other side. The Montague boys and Mercutio's death, soon to be followed by Tybalt's death. 

 

My next scene isn't for a few minutes. I bend down, stashing my water in a cupboard - and rough hands seize me. I don't see anything, only a blur of the curtain, and a half glance of the open backstage door.

 

\--

 

"You said you'd give me opening night." I spit through a mouthful of blood, which has dribbled down from my nose. Malone stands in front of me, crackling his fat pig knuckles. He's flanked by DJ and Lewis, and I can't look at them for the betrayal. Anger burns through me, hot and visceral with the adrenaline. I'm missing my show. My heart is breaking.

 

"I lied." The old man tells me jovially. "Or perhaps I just got bored." He grins, and that fist flies into my stomach, knocking all the air out of me. But he's old. Out of shape. It doesn't hurt that much, but he wants to do it himself. A personal insult. To have DJ or Lewis do it would have been more efficient. More painful, in so many ways.

 

We're behind the stage somewhere, some old staffroom with a single lightbulb on a hanging wire, and dusty boxes everywhere. I sit in a chair, my hands tied with wires. My heart is rocketing in my chest, and I'm breathing fast, tense and unhappy. Not now. It can't be now. Just another hour. Just another forty minutes..

 

"Just let me finish the show.." I plead, closing my eyes, my voice a rasp. "..Please."

 

 The fist flies into my skull, slamming into my eyesocket, and pain bursts vividly into my vision, a ragged gasp leaving my chest. I keep on. I can't leave Sebastian out there. I just want to make sure he's alright. And then they can take me. He can have me.

 

"Please," My voice is a cry, desperate and near sobbing.  He detests weakness, but he hates stubbornness even more. Crying is my best fucking bet here. "Malone.. George.. for fuck sake.. it's my.. Malone  - _please_..-"

 

The next hit is beneath my chin, and I bite down on my tongue, the impact knocking my chair over onto it's back. Perhaps not so old and weak after all. I spit blood, and it dribbles across my cheek, dizzy as I lay, my vision blurry. I'm going to die. I'm going to die.. I need.. I have to get back out there.. Sebastian.. he's in danger..

 

" _Please.._ "

 

A foot comes, hard and unrelenting into  my side, the breath torn from my lungs with each slam of the boot, pain flowering in red flashes in front of my eyes. This is it. This is how I die. I hear the click of a blade slide free of a sheath, and the kicking stops for a moment. I laugh bitterly, desperately, blood dripping from my lips. He'll slit my throat. This is it.

 

"Insubordinate." 

 

The word is my sentence. Malone's voice is cold. My Judge and jury. I screw my eyes shut, pained tears leaking from the edges. 

 

Goodbye, Sebastian. I love you.

 

"NOW!"

 

The shout is followed by a great clatter, a slam against a wall, and a wheezing gasp. I open my eyes, try and locate which way is up, the room spinning and my eyes wet with either my own tears or blood, though finally I see it - and thrash against my wires, not sure it can be what I think.

 

DJ has slammed Malone back into the wall, the old man struggling, red-faced and furious against him, effing and blinding and blustering as Lewis draws a knife, and without a moment of hesitation - just plunges it into Malone's throat, my squeak of protest catching in my chest.

 

I turn my head just in time, blood spurting, gushing, splattering out onto the concrete floor, and it gets me anyway, flecking onto my white top, already bloodied from my own injuries. Malone convulses, crumples, and DJ steps back, letting him fall. Lewis stoops by my side, clips off the wires, and then sits up my chair, roughly mopping at my bloodied face with a rag.

 

"Why-" I begin, but Lewis intercepts, talking fast.

 

"Couldn't let him do it." He says hurriedly, firmly. "If it was stand with him and kill you, we didn't want to stand with him at all."

 

"But-"

 

"We forgive you." DJ intercepts. I roll my eyes.

 

"I didn't-"

 

"We're sorry too." Lewis' arm is around me quickly, roughly, almost fast enough that I don't register it. We don't hug.  I blink back at him, and he releases me, DJ already dragging the body towards the door. Lewis pushes me, and my stomach and sides throb in agony. I spit out blood onto the floor.

 

"Go on. You have a show to do."

 

The whole thing has only taken a few minutes. It's insane. It feels like hours. I stagger out blindly, wandering back towards the stage, just as Sebastian and Ali dive off, Tybalt having been murdered.

 

 It's my scene. A solo scene more or less, with only Tash joining me for a few moments, to inform me of my cousin's death.

 

The lights go up again. I throw myself out onto the stage, dizzy. 

 

The lights are hot, blinding, and I feel as though I might pass out. I stagger through the steps, fall to my knees at news of Tybalt's death, though Tash' eyes are wide as she looks at me, probably taking in all the blood on my face and shirt. I don't know. I can't really see her, my vision fuzzed. I go through a few more moves, and catch sight of Sebastian - I think - in the wings, Francois' arm across his chest, holding him back.

 

He wants to run out, to help me.

 

I'm fine. I can do this. Blood wells in my mouth, and as I veer closer to the wings, I spit it out. Blondie looks at the floor, horrorstruck, though I'm seeing two of her, and a few seconds later I'm throwing myself into more impassioned  falls and swooning steps, learning of Romeo's banishment. 

 

The lights go down. Relieved, I push myself to my feet to leave the stage. I'm on again in a few seconds with Sebastian, an emotional scene where we grab and cling at each other, learning of our imminent separation. I take a half second to look out at the audience. At the circle. Second and third row. 

 

Half of the seats are empty.

 

The song starts then - the one we've been rehearsing to for weeks now, a slow, echoed and staggered version of Lana Del Rey's 'Young and Beautiful'.I remember thinking it was so beautiful when I first heard it, so fitting for the next three or so half-scenes, but now, as a backdrop to my own suffering.. It haunts me.

 

Sebastian runs out as the lights go up, but I don't understand. His hands are on my face, his eyes raging, and he isn't doing the steps. "Jim.." He's saying, his voice loud and anxious and fuzzy, and I push him off hard, begin doing the steps by myself. 

 

After a frozen moment, he joins in reluctantly, still watching me closely. I feel slightly faint. Much too hot, dizzy and sick, but there isn't long now. Malone is dead, I remind myself, clinging to Sebastian's chest and then throwing myself into a despairing fall until he lifts me again, turning with me like I weigh nothing.

 

"What the hell?" He whispers panickedly, and I don't answer, not sure I'm able to answer, too close to the brink of consciousness. I pull away, and we both spin separately from the stage. 

 

Arms grab at me, try and blot at the blood, but then I'm back on again, with Tash, Blondie and Holly, the dance angry and violent. They pull at me, though they're mainly holding me up right now, Julian learning of his imminent marriage. I push at them, I spurn Holly, and I run, glancing at the audience again. 

 

Those empty seats are now filled, I note, as I'm dragged from the stage by an angry 'wife-to-be'.

 

 I focus on the story. On Julian's agony, rather than my own physical pain. 

 

It's all happening so fast. Wet rags blot at my face, water is thrust into my hands, anxious voices questioning what has happened, if I'm okay, but I just shake my head, and propel myself back onto the stage.  The group dancers surround me a few seconds later, circling me as Julian decides to take the sleep-inducing poison. The dance is both tentative, thoughtful and agonised. Julian feels trapped, terrified. 

 

Hands grab at me, push me gently into a fall, and the dancing becomes more frantic around me, kicks and leaps and fast spins. I pretend that I don't catch the anxious looks, the frantic whispers from back stage about my injuries. Lana Del Rey builds to that crescendo.

_Will you still love me.._   


 

They leave me curled on the stage, and I climb slowly to my feet, extending the vial in my fingers, luminous green. The music is slow, sweet and heart-wrenching. I point my toes, step delicately, extending as I turn slowly, slipping into an arabesque before I slide onto the sofa. Spit and swallow, send the green lashing onto the white silk. I know what to do. It'll be over soon. 

  
_When I'm no longer young.. and beautiful.._   


 

I lean back to tip the vial into my mouth, but something catches my eye, and then a rough hand is snatching it from me, and I look up to see Sebastian here, a whole scene before his cue. I look up at him, aghast, and he holds the vial, looking up into the upper circle with rage in his eyes. 

 

Silence falls. I freeze. The music rises into the next empassioned section, and we're supposed to be on the next scene.

 

Uneasy titters, murmurs, run through the audience.

 

Sebastian's gaze swivels to me. Back to the audience. I can almost see the words float through his mind.

 

_The show must go on._

 

"No!"

 

I don't know why he stopped me drinking it, but he must have had a reason. And to look into the audience like that.. There's something wrong with it. Spiked, tainted somehow, one of them sneaking into our team, or backstage to tamper with the props table. 

 

I lunge at Sebastian as he empties it into his mouth, but I'm too late. He goes to spit it onto the silk, but he's choking, must have swallowed some, is wide-eyed as he scrabbles at his throat. My own hands find his cheeks, my gaze wild as I search for a solution, for help, though the word hasn't even left my lips before it's all over. 

 

Just. Like. That.

 

Sebastian's hands stop mine on his cheeks, his eyes, pained and glassy, on mine, fingers squeezing mine before he smiles, just a shaking, agonised shadow of one of those old smiles, stained the hideous green that takes him from me.

 

 He falls against me, his eyes open, warm and heavy. I'm going to pass out. I'm going to be sick. My heart splits in two, and my mouth falls open in a silent scream. I feel it leave my lungs, feel it leave my throat hoarse, but I don't hear it, just rocking with him in my arms. It's happened so fast. One second, one moment, one mistake.

 

_Hot summer nights, mid July.._

 

Behind me, the banner falls. It's revealed from behind the curtain, a huge, printed banner with details of Bogdanov's former recruits. Photographs. Burial places. Alibis. For all his existing recruits to see, like we planned. Like Sebastian wanted, to take their loyalty from him. Show them who he really is. In our final scene. 

 

Stop our attack. Get off scot free.

 

Dizzy. Sick. Shaking. Broken. Empty. Devastated. 

Dead.

 

None of it matters. 

 

We lost.

 

They beat us.

 

Sebastian is still warm in my arms, and people rush towards us from the wings, everything in slow motion. 

 

In the distance, anguished screams sound, voices of all nationalities. Bogdanov's 'family', revolting against him.

 

The audience are on their feet, applauding in a roar of noise, of appreciation for our performance. It's just a buzz. Background noise. Just like we wanted. But not like this. Never like this. I decide upon my next move in a split second, already haggard and sick to my stomach with numb grief. 

 

_Where you and I will forever walk.._

 

We do this together. Stronger together. We said that once.

 

My fingers, slick with sweat, fumble at my ankle. I break the knife free of its elastic and plunge it towards my chest.

 

\--


	24. Grand Pas

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** SIX MONTHS LATER **

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Malone's office is unrecognizable. 

The seedy office block that it once was is now transformed inside. Oak paneling lines the walls, with thick, fluffy maroon carpet on the floors, my desk a beautiful mahogany with a leather chair. Everything is perfectly neat and organised. Colourful murals on the walls depict dancers.. ballet. As if I'd ever have anything else. I feel happy every time I look at them. It's.. a start. I don't dance any more.

 

I turn in my chair, watching Ace slot away the documents from the meeting that finished ten minutes ago. Stubborn, his broken arms were never put in casts, and healed wrongly, meaning that he's unfit for combat. But he came to me upon my takeover, and begged for mercy. That was rather sweet, if piteous. He's basically my P.A, now. He files, he makes coffee, he attends some meetings on my behalf. It's working fairly well. He's grateful, and no sour words have left his lips.

 

I haven't heard one word about the dancing, not since I took over.

 

It was DJ's idea. Lewis killed Malone, but he was adamant that I take the credit. That I lead. They did it for me, they said. At the time, they didn't realise the scope of their actions. That killing the head honcho would leave a business of two thousand men without a leader. And I suppose, it just kind of fell at the right time. I had the money to make a few changes, too.

Francois presented me with my opening night cheque in my hospital bed, his eyes wet and his skin blotchy red, ravaged by grief. I stared numbly at the figures on the paper. Twenty grand. You don't have to do that, I told him in a croak. I don't want his money, too. 

 

Someone should have it. He said back. He worked hard. 

 

I try and invest it back in the company, but Francois won't hear of it. He knows, now. They all know, now.

 

A quiet knock comes on the door, and DJ steps inside. I smile at him, lean back in my chair. I'm barefoot, my feet on the desk, and he snorts at me, walking over - though his expression softens a little when he hands over the flyer. 

_'The Blue Ribbon Company present The  Nutcracker'_   


 

Samantha is on the front. Samantha, who just six months ago, didn't even perform in the show. Now principal. I don't think I've ever felt prouder.. of course, I already purchased tickets a few weeks ago, the moment I heard. And they haven't stopped going on and on about it since. I'm jealous, I admit. But we stay in touch. Just the other day, a mysterious delivery of pizzas arrived at my office, enough for the ten men inside, the peppers and sauce on top laid out like a shoe. I rolled my eyes and laughed. 

 

A week or so before, the three A's showed up at my place, to take me out for drinks. Alex is better now. He's careful when he dances, or so he tells his father. Dancing is his forte, his passion. I'm so relieved that my problems, that.. Sebastian's.. problems, didn't ruin that. I doubt the lot of them will ever truly leave me alone. I don't care. I love it.

 

I love them. 

 

They're my family.

 

I give a small smile to the lettering, and glance back up at DJ. "I know." I say. "Thank you. I already have my ticket."

 

He shrugs, and takes the leaflet back, which has a free ticket stapled inside - and no doubt, from one of them. As if I'd miss it for the world. 

 

He makes it to the doorway before Sebastian ducks in, swiping the flyer from his hands.

"But if it's free.." He quips, with a grin. "I could always go twice."

DJ rolls his eyes, tries to grab the flyer back but Sebastian is laughing, holding it above his head. At long last, DJ grumbles, giving him a shove and then stalks out, though there's a half smile on his lips. I stand behind my desk, hands resting on the wood.

"They're never going to warm to you if you keep on like that." I drawl, and he saunters over, still grinning.

" _You_  warmed to me." He points out, and then dips down to kiss me, his lips warm and light as they brush mine.

I pull back with a mock exasperated sigh. "I have no idea _how_." I say, and then tug him close by his collar. "Arse." I mutter.

 

He grins. I kiss him again.

 

\--

 

I thought he was dead. 

 

Heavy in my arms, the blood gushed from my own chest as the knife pierced my skin, though milliseconds later, it was torn from my fingers by Tash, Ali pulling at Sebastian, patting at his cheeks, Blondie checking his pulse. 

 

I blacked out, the pain too great - barely noticing the slash across my own chest, jagged and missing the mark, thanks to the intervention of my friends. The agony of loss. Sebastian, torn from me. Why? Why did he do it? I hazed in and out of consciousness, seeing glimpses of the madness around me. 

 

Sebastian's body being pried from my arms.

 

The blurry, upside down interior of an ambulance.

  
My friends, alternating by my bedside, until I awoke to find Francois there and pressing that cheque into my fingers. He broke down on me. Started crying. I couldn't muster any tears, I just felt numb. I even had Ryan come and visit me.

 

He sat by my bedside, looking at me scathingly. 

"It was meant for you." He said, words shaking, his eyes wet. "You were supposed to drink it. Why didn't you drink it?!" The words were a scream, and my vision became blurred with tears, ignoring the pain of sitting up as I screamed back at him.  _I wish I had. It wasn't supposed to be him._  


 

It was never supposed to be him.

 

Of course, the shock came three days later. The same day I heard about the National. The prize ballet group, the national treasure, the award-winning, infamous team. Disbanded. I was leaving the hospital, Holly on one arm and Antoine on another, guiding me into DJ's car, where Lewis also sat in the front. I don't know how those two met my ballet team, but somehow they had. Maybe on that night. Probably on my hospital visits.  Lewis brought me about a year's supply of chocolate biscuits, and DJ a mini laptop.

 

They drove me home. To our little flat. I said goodbye to Holly and Antoine at the door, and they hugged me, promised to check up on me tomorrow. The climb up the stairs was painstaking, but the boys helped me. Though they couldn't help with what waited for us inside. 

Lewis unlocked the door, stepped inside, and swore loudly. I looked up.

 

I didn't look away.

 

Sebastian stood, dressed in a black jumper and black jeans, hands sheepishly in his pockets. Ash blonde hair falling into green eyes, fixed onto me apologetically. "..Jim.." He began softly, but DJ stepped forward, and quite promptly punched him in the face.

 

Sebastian must have seen it coming. He's too fast, too clever, too well-trained not to block it. But he didn't block it. DJ walked back to my side, stiff,  and Sebastian lifted a hand to rub at his jaw, flexing the bone as he muttered; "..I suppose I deserved that."

\--

 

After about an hour of hysterics, things calmed down. I couldn't stop fisting my hands in my hair, staring at him in shock, warm and living, alive and here, that half grin on his lips and beating heart in his chest. Couldn't stop fucking crying, half relief and half terrible exhaustion from the whole mess. DJ and Lewis left us to it. In my room, Sebastian held me until I stopped, until I finally got my head around the fact that he was alive, my mouth frenzied, urgent on his, his hands pulling at my clothes. The sex was loud, rough, unbelievable. I could barely tear my gaze from him, and it was only afterwards, laying in the sheets, his lips dotting lazy kisses to the gash on my chest, the skin of my jaw and neck, that I finally asked. My voice was a croak, drained and disbelieving.

"..How?"

He sat up slowly, drew me into his arms against the wall at the edge of the bed, bundling us both in the covers. He rested his mouth against my hair as he spoke. He was so warm. His heart thundered in his chest against my back. So alive. 

"I saw them swap it." He said quietly. "Just before you drank it. The group dance, one of them must have gotten in, or laid it on the props table. It had a different coloured stopper." He sighed, shaking his head. "I tried to get out to you before that, but our lot were all holding me back. They wouldn't listen. They all thought I wanted to drag you off stage because you were hurt."

He held me a little tighter, words a near whisper. "I've never been as fucking scared as that, Jim, honestly, I haven't. I thought.."

"That you'd lost me." I replied, my voice just as small. I knew. It was how I'd felt since he collapsed into my arms. But I sat up - it didn't make sense, not yet. "..How.. how are you still alive?"

He gave me the shadow of that sheepish smile again. "..I ran on stage with the real poison in my hand. Or, the prop poison, I should say.."

I blinked at him, trying to understand what he was saying. My words were slow, slight anger beginning to thrum through them.

"..So that was all fake.." I looked at him, a disbelieving scowl falling onto my face. "..You let me  _suffer._.-"

 

He held up his hands for a moment, words fast. "Not suffer. I had a plan - I took the opportunity.. just like you did, with Ryan."

The reminder prompted a wince from me, but I kept the same glare on him.

"The whole National were in the audience. I figured if they saw me die, that would be the end of it. They wouldn't pursue me. And the banner worked. Bogdanov was torn to pieces.They're-"

"Disbanded." I finished curtly. "I know. That doesn't make it okay."

"Of course not." He shook his head. "Of course it doesn't. But I can tell them now. The ballet team.  _Our_  team. You. Fuck, it's been agony not being able to-"

"Agony." I repeated, seething. "You? You think you know agony? I thought you were dead!"

I pushed him hard, and he frowned, reaching for me again. I went on, my voice heightening to a yell.

"Francois was crying at my fucking hospital bedside! You arse! You total.. utter.. complete..  _arse_!"

 

I was beating at him with my fists and he took it, just wincing when I landed a particularly hard hit. He let me hit out at him, kicking and screaming, until I tired myself out, until I collapsed against him, my eyes wet again, anger and relief surging through me in waves. 

"You arse." I cried, into his shirt. "I hate you. I  _hate_  you for doing that."

 

"I know." He answered, quiet as his arms encircled me, mouth resting in my hair. "I know. But I forgave you. And one day you'll forgive me. I'm not leaving, Jim. I don't care if you stay in dance, or if you want to start this business, or what. But I love you. I love you, and fuck it, I need you."

I was silent for a few long moments, before giving him one last feeble punch to the chest. He dipped down, kissed me again, soft this time. It went on for a while, slow and passionate, a new introduction after that last, terrible scene. 

"..How do you feel?" He asked me at last, and I nodded.

"..Fine, now." I admitted. "A little.. ravaged. Achey. But.. whole again."

"..Soppy git." He murmured, and I hit him again. 

"Fuck off."

"Do you still want to go into business? Because you could, you know. Look at all the men Malone will have left behind."

 

I thought for a long few minutes, and then sat up, lacing my fingers with his and then looking down at them. So much had happened since opening night, but it was only four nights ago. Still time enough. I nodded.

"I can set the wheels in motion." I agreed. "I'll have to talk to DJ and Lewis, but.."

He arched an eyebrow at me. "..But?"

"..We have a show to finish. I want to dance the whole run."

 

\--

 

And we did. The whole run. Forty two shows, all full and complete, each night to a full house and roaring applause. I owed it to my friends, and to Sebastian, to Francois and Liona, and to myself. Because I do adore dance, even if power is my true calling. Dance is a power play, in itself. Perhaps that's why I enjoy it so much. 

 

They all hated Sebastian as much as I did, at first. For lying, for upsetting us all, even if it was necessary. It takes a few days, almost a week, for them to come around. To understand. It helped that I'd already forgiven him, I think. We've both now done things that we aren't proud of, for the sake of survival and opportunity.

 

On the final night, our friends presented us with bouquets of flowers, chocolates, and a giant bottle of some green alcohol that looked amusingly like the 'poison' that killed Sebastian. An inside joke - a horrific one. We drank it together afterwards, the whole class, even Francois having a sip and then swearing like a sailor, the sight hilarious to the rest of us. 

 

The very next day, Sebastian, DJ, Lewis and I went to Malone's old headquarters. Began to talk things through with some of the men that remained. Lewis decided to tell the world that I killed Malone, and was thus entitled to his business and fortunes. Of course, I pointed out to Sebastian afterwards, that set a precedent - they'll all be trying to kill me now, if they can get everything I own by default.

"Just let them try." Was his reply, murmured against my mouth whilst his arms snaked around my back. 

 

\--

 

We go to watch The Nutcracker. 

 

We cheer the loudest for our friends, and at the very end, they tug us onto the stage for a very special bow, Sebastian grinning as he pulls me into a lift, though I'm wearing a suit and can't look particularly graceful, laughing as I point my toes in expensive leather shoes. He kisses me in front of everyone, and I don't care for once, kissing him back, catching his surprise at my eagerness. He was right. I need to be prouder of what I enjoy. 

 

Of what I love.

No more hiding. No more lies.

 

The crowd continues to laugh and applaud, our friends pushing at us, ruffling our hair, but we don't stop until we're both smiling against one another's lips.

 

I am. I am proud.

 

I love power.

I love dance.

 I love Sebastian Moran. 

 

And you know what?

  
I don't envy the fate of anyone that tries to take them from me.

 

\--

 


End file.
